PR2993 
.F2 
S78 
191^ 


UNIVERSITY  OF  N  C  AT  CHAPEL  HILL 


00014224369 


UNIVERSITY    OF   NORTH    CAROLINA 


s 

3 
C 
B 


BOOK   CARD 

Please  keep  this  card  In 
book  pocket 


s 

3 

a 

3 

S 
B 
S 


OS  3 


en  a 

a>  3 


I 

IS 


1 0.- 


'  UiH_ 


THE  UBRARY  OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

AT  CHAPEL  HIU 


ENDOWED  BY  THE 

DIALECTIC  AND  PHILANTHROPIC 

SOCIETIES 


.F2 
S78 

I9lh 


FALSTAFF 


ELMER  EDGAR  STOLE 


Reprinted  for  private  circulation  from 
Modern  Philology,  Vol.  XII,  N0.4,  October  1914 


Digitized  by  tine  Internet  Arciiive 

in  2012  witii  funding  from 

University  of  Nortii  Carolina  at  Chapel  Hil 


http://archive.org/details/falstaffOOstol 


«0f80 


FALSTAFF 


wn 


ELMER  EDGAR  STOLE 


Reprinted  for  private  circulation  from 
Modern  Philology,  Vol.  XII,  N0.4,  October  1014 


J  ^ 


Modern  Philology 


Volume  XII  October  IQI4  Number  4 


FALSTAFF 

In  Shakespeare  criticism,  as  in  most  things  Anglo-Saxon  but 
sport,  there  has  been  little  professionalism.  The  best  as  well  as  the 
worst  of  our  scientists  and  artists  have  done  their  work  without 
learning  how  to  do  it,  and  our  critics,  like  our  soldiers,  have  won 
their  Waterloos  on  cricket  fields.  For  two  hundred  and  fifty  years 
Englishmen  and  Americans  have  been  writing  about  the  character 
of  Falstaff,  and  hardly  three  or  four  of  these  have  been  students  of 
the  stage.  Since  1777  they  have  followed  in  the  steps  of  Maurice 
Morgann,'  a  country  gentleman  of  philosophfc  bent  and  literary  taste 
who  seems  to  have  known  little  of  the  acted  drama  and  to  have 
loVed  it  less.  In  reading  Shakespeare  he  is  not  reminded  of  Plautus 
or  Terence,  of  Fletcher  or  Moliere.  We  all  know  what  sort  of 
opinions,  in  ignorance  of  technique  and  historic  development,  were 
entertained  in  Morgann's  time  by  men  so  delicate  in  sensibility  as 
Walpole  and  Shelley,  concerning  Greek  sculpture,  Italian  painting, 
and  Gothic  architecture;  and  is  it  likely  that  his  opinion  concern- 
ing Falstaff,  though  in  England  and  America  it  has  stood  now  for 
much  more  than  a  century,  should  be  less  fallible  ?  Time  establishes 
institutions,  not  truth.  But  though  still  we  may  hear  that  pointed 
construction  was  the  immediate  expression  of  the  gloom  and  aspira- 
tion of  the  Middle  Ages,  and  that  groined  vaulting  and  pillared  aisles 
were  devised  in  imitation  of  God's  first  temple,  the  over-arching 

1  An  Essay  on  the  Dramatic  Character  of  Sir  John  Falstaff,  often  since  reprinted,  and 
twice  within  tlie  last  ten  years. 
197]  65  [MoDEEN  Philology,  October,  1914 


mmmm-mw.mm'itmmm,- 


66  Elmer  Edgae  Stoll 

forest,  Anglo-Saxons  have  had  their  eyes  opened  to  the  technique 
of  art  as  not  to  the  technique  of  the  play.  What  might  be  called 
the  external  history  of  the  drama  has  been  explored,  but  technique 
has  been  neglected,  and  still  anybody  ventures  to  write  on  Shake- 
speare who  has  a  style  and  taste.  Few  among  these  would  appreciate 
the  remark  of  Stevenson  that  to  read  a  play  is  as  difi&cult  as  to  read 
musical  score.  And  to  read  an  old  play  is  as  difficult  as  to  read  old 
score. 

Morgann  reads  like  a  true  Romantic,  and  discovers  in  the  effect 
of  Falstaff  upon  us  in  the  two  Parts  of  Henry  IV  an  opposition 
between  feeling  and  the  understanding.  "Shakespeare  has  con- 
trived to  make  secret  impressions  upon  us  of  courage  in  favor  of 
a  character  which  was  to  be  held  up  for  sport  and  laughter  on 
account  of  actions  of  apparent  cowardice  and  dishonor."  Fal- 
staff's  conduct  is  cowardly;  his  character,  that  subtler  essence,  is 
courageous.'  Contrary  to  what  we  might  expect,  the  cowardice 
and  dishonor,  which  are  perceived  by  the  understanding,  are  the 
obvious  traits,  those  "thrust  forward  and  pressed  upon  our  notice"; 
and  the  favorable  mental  impressions  are  attained  to  in  the  case  of 
Morgann  himself,  not  by  the  mystical  faculty  alleged,  but  through 
dehberate  conjecture  and  devious  ratiocination,  that  is,  by  the 
understanding,  too.  Whatever  the  process,  the  direct  effect  of  the 
incidents  of  Gadshill  and  Shrewsbury,  of  Falstaff's  confessions,  and  of 
the  downright  ridicule  of  him  by  the  Prince,  Lancaster,  and  Poins,  is 
counteracted,  he  thinks,  by  inferences  from  the  incidental  testimony 
of  characters  such  as  Doll  Tearsheet,  Shallow,  Lord  Bardolph,  and  the 
Chief- Justice,  and  by  such  circumstances  as  his  earher  "familiarity" 
with  John  of  Gaunt,  a  "dozen  captains"  calling  him  to  court,  and 
his  appearance  once  on  the  eve  of  battle  in  the  presence  of  the  King. 
At  times  the  critic  goes  farther,  and,  in  the  faith  that  Shakespeare's 
characters  are  "essentially  different  from  those  of  other  WTiters," 
considers  Falstaff  as  if  he  were  an  "historic  rather  than  dramatic 
being, "^  inquiring  adventurously  into  his  hopeful  youth,  his  family, 
and  his  station,  and  inferring  from  these  that  he  must  have  had  the 

1  Cf.,  among  many,  Professor  Bradley,  Oxford  Lectures,  The  Rejection  of  Falstaff, 
p.  265:  "sometimes  behaves  in  a  cowardly  way,  but  that  does  not  show  that  he  was  a 
coward." 

'  Ed.  1S20,  pp.  61,  66. 

198 


Falstaff  67 

constitutional  instincts  of  courage  although  he  had  lost  the  principles 
which  ordinarily  accompany  them.'  So  firmly  has  this  notion  of 
Falstaff  as  a  real  person  taken  hold  of  him  that  now  and  then  he 
breaks  out  into  exclamations  against  the  "malice"  from  which 
Falstaff's  reputation  suffers,  appeals  to  the  reader's  good  nature  to 
right  him,  and  when  confronted  with  the  more  unequivocal  acts  and 
utterances  of  his  favorite  can  but  call  them  "unfortunate,"  and,  as 
if  he  were  a  friend  in  trouble,  deplore  his  loquacity  in  soliloquy  and 
"imprudence"  in  deed.^  In  this  spirit  of  unaesthetic  kindliness, 
and  in  accordance  with  his  principle  of  preferring  to  the  prominent 
and  obvious  what  is  latent  and  obscure,  he  discredits  the  testimony 
of  Lancaster  and  Poins  as  prompted  by  envy  and  ill-will,  and  the 
Prince's  as  given  in  raillery,  makes  much  of  the  compliment  implied 
in  the  surrender  of  that  "famous  knight  and  most  valorous  enemy" 
Colville  of  the  Dale,  and  is  of  the  opinion  that  a  man  who  takes 
captives,  and  jests  and  dallies  on  a  battlefield,  has  not  got  so 
frightened  as  to  lose  his  presence  of  mind.  Love  of  humor  is  the 
mainspring  of  his  character:  he  falls  flat  at  Shrewsbury  for  a  jest 
and  none  of  his  lies  and  braggadocios  is  intended  to  deceive.  The 
escapade  of  Gadshill,  which  in  the  story  Shakespeare  puts  first, 
Morgann  considers,  as  the  "source  of  much  unreasonable  prejudice," 
last,  and  even  if  it  must  be  thought  an  exhibition  of  cowardice  holds 
it  to  be  a  single  exception.  The  virtue  of  the  jest  afterward  at 
Eastcheap  is  in  the  "reproof  of  the  lies,"  which  are  but  humor,  and 
not  in  the  exposure  of  the  cowardice,  which  is  a  venial  and  mo- 
mentary aberration. 

In  sum  and  substance  and  often  in  minute  detail  these  views  have 
been  reproduced  by  English  critics  since' — by  Coleridge  and  Swin- 
burne, by  Hazlitt,  Lloyd,  and  Maginn,  who  make  a  jest  even  of  the 
flight  from  Gadshill,  and  most  elaborately,  though  most  subtly  of 

1  There  is  excellent  comment  on  tliis  trick  of  Morgann's  and  its  effect  on  Shakespeare 
criticism  since,  in  Mr.  A.  B.  Walkley's  Drama  and  Life:  Professor  Bradley's  Hamlet. 
I  cannot  help  thinking,  however,  that  the  fallacy  would  have  prevailed  even  had  Morgann 
never  perpetrated  it. 

2  Critics  have  kept  something  of  this  tone  of  the  apologist  to  the  present  day,  as 
Professor  Bradley.  Oiford  Lectures,  pp.  266,  26S,  note. 

3  This  is  my  only  justification  for  paying  so  much  attention  to  the  ingenious  but 
implausible  arguments  of  a  critic  so  far  removed  in  time;  this,  and  the  stamp  of  approval 
laid  upon  them  by  Swinburne.  Professor  Bradley,  and  perhaps  most  remarkable  of  all, 
the  student  of  roguery.  Professor  F.  H.  Chandler,  in  his  introduction  to  Henry  lY  in 

199 


^y 


68  Elmer  Edgar  Stoll 

all,  by  Professor  A.  C.  Bradley.  His  main  achievement  is  the 
development,  after  Rotscher  and  others,  of  Morgann's  notion  of 
Falstaff  as  a  "military  freethinker"  into  that  of  one  who  by  his 
humor  dissolves  away  into  words  and  airy  nothings  not  only  honor 
but  those  other  obstacles  and  "nuisances" — truth,  duty,  devotion 
to  one's  country,  the  terrors  of  death  and  religion,  everything  in 
short  that  makes  life  real  and  earnest,  thereby  "lifting  us  into  an 
atmosphere  of  perfect  freedom."'  Among  the  Germans  Falstaff 
the  philosopher  has  passed  unchallenged,  but  among  these  students 
of  the  technique  and  history  of  the  drama  he  has  generally  had  to 
bear  the  badge  of  a  coward  too. 

Johnson  scoffed  at  his  friend  Morgann's  innovation,  and  critics 
since  have  been  disposed  to  pay  him  back  in  his  coin.  But  they 
would  hardly  have  been  so  quick  to  do  it  to  Dryden,  though 
twice  explicitly  and  without  qualification  he  calls  Falstaff  liar,  coward, 
glutton,  and  buffoon. ^  And  Thomas  Fuller,  Oldmixon,  and  all  the 
seventeenth  century  with  them  take  it  for  granted  that  he  is  nothing 
else.^  Since  then  the  world  had  moved  on  a  bit;  yet  a  critical 
opinion  on  the  drama  propounded  amid  all  the  vagaries  of  the  hey- 
day of  Romanticism,  by  one  neither  a  dramatist  nor  a  student  of 
the  drama,  is  on  the  face  of  it  quite  as  questionable  as  the  contrary 
opinion  which  till  then  had  stood  unimpeached. 

Not  only  is  Morgarm  strangely  confused  and  contradictory  in 
that,  finding  the  circumstances  creditable  to  Falstaff  thrown  into 
the  background,  and  the  "follies  and  the  buffoonery"  thrown  into 
the  foreground,  he  calls  us,  who  attach  greater  importance  to  the 
latter,  the  dupes  of  our  wisdom  and  systematic  reasoning,  but  thus 

the  Tudor  edition.  Even  the  Germans,  as  I  suggest  below,  owe  more  to  Morgann  than 
they  may  be  aware.  Among  English  critics  two  conspicuous  exceptions  are  Mr.  Court- 
hope  (History  of  English  Poetry,  IV,  114)  and  Mr.  E.  K.  Chambers  {Red  Letter  Shakespeare, 
introduction  to  Henry  IV,  Part  II) ;  but  they  give  no  reasons  and  permit  themselves  no 
more  than  an  oracular  sentence. 

1  Oxford  Lectures,  pp.  262-63. 

'  Essay  of  Dramatic  Poesy  (Every  Man's  Library),  p.  43:  "old,  fat,  merry,  cowardly, 
drunken,  amorous,  vain,  and  lying";  Ingleby's  Shakespeare  Allusion-Book  (ed.  Munro), 
II,  246:  "a  lyar,  a  coward,  a  Glutton,  and  Buflon,  because  all  these  qualities  may  agree 
in  the  same  man." 

>  Ingleby,  op.  cit.;  Fuller,  I,  486,  "make-sport  in  all  plays  for  a  coward":  II,  43, 
"coward,"  "B>ifIoone":  Oldmixon.  II.  431;  George  Daniel,  I,  507;  cf.  Captain  Alex- 
ander Smith,  Compleat  History  of  the  Lives  and  Robberies,  etc.,  1719,  I,  1  f.,  who  takes  it 
that  Shakespeare  intended  him  for  "a  grand  coward."  and  what  Mr.  Chandler.  Litera- 
ture of  Roguery,  p.  175,  says  about  his  thinking  Falstaff  none,  has  to  do  only  with  the 
Fastolf  of  history  and  legend. 

200 


Falstaff  69 

and  otherwise  he  betrays  a  total  misapprehension  of  dramatic  method, 
whether  of  his  own  or  of  an  earlier  time.  It  is  all  too  plain  that  he 
cannot  read  score.  To  him,  as  to  many  another  philosopher  and 
literateur,  Shakespeare  is  not  score  to  be  played,  but  a  book  to  be 
read;  and  a  really  great  dramatist  is  one  who  dupes  us,  deliberately 
misplaces  the  emphasis,  transcendentally  baffles  men's  wits.  Yet 
of  all  dramatists  down  to  Dumas  and  Ibsen — and  even  of  them — 
the  contrary  is  the  case.  What  is  in  the  foreground  is  important; 
what  is  in  the  background  is  less  important,  and,  in  Shakespeare  and 
the  Elizabethans,  often  epically,  rather  than  dramatically  and  psycho- 
logically, in  keeping.!  j^^j  what  stands  first  in  the  play,  as  the 
cowardly  flight  from  Gadshill,  is  most  important  of  all  and  dominates 
the  whole.  Besides  these  simple  principles  of  dramatic  emphasis  and 
perspective,  which  in  our  discussion  will  constantly  be  illustrated, 
Morgann  and  his  followers  ignore  the  various  hints  of  the  poet  as 
embodied  in  the  established  conventions  of  the  time — the  confessions 
in  soliloquy,  the  comments  and  predictions  of  important  undiscredited 
characters  like  the  Prince  and  Poins,  and  various  devices  and  bits 
of  "business,"  like  Falstaff 's  roaring  as  he  runs  and  his  falling  flat 
in  battle.  All  these  are  as  much  means  of  expression  as  the  Eliza- 
bethan vocabulary  of  the  text,  and  yet  they  are  treated  as  if  they  had 
no  fixed  and  definite  meaning — as  if,  as  someone  has  said,  the  book 
had  dropped  from  the  skies;  and  the  playwright  and  his  time 
vanish  from  his  play.  So  far  has  this  gone  that,  as  we  have  seen, 
inquiry  presses  coolly  by  him  to  the  character's  lineage,  financial 
and  social  experiences,  and  his  past  as  a  whole.  It  was  but  yester- 
day that  an  Elizabethan  scholar  contended  that  we  had  a  right  to 
do  this,  and  that  characters  in  plays,  particularly  in  Shakespeare's, 
were  not  imreal  like  statues  and  paintings.  They  can  think,  talk, 
and  walk — they  are  bits  of  real  life,  not  art! 

On  the  principle  that  what  is  most  prominent  is  most  important 
surely  there  is  no  need  to  dwell:  of  art  it  is  the  beginning  and  end. 
Of  the  correlative  principle  that  the  first  impression  is  designedly 
the  dominant  one  there  is  in  the  case  of  Shylock  a  remarkable  illus- 
tration which  I  have  exhibited  elsewhere,-  and  even  in  the  plays  of 

'See  my  article  "Hamlet  and  lago,"  Kittredge  Anniversary  Papers  (Boston,  1913). 
'See  in  the  Journal  of  English  and  Germanic  Philology,  1911,  my  article  "Shylock," 
pp.  240-41. 

201 


70  Elmer  Edgar  Stoll 

Ibsen  we  have  only  apparent  exceptions  to  the  rule.  If  Helmer  in 
the  Doll's  House  is  not  the  heroic  character,  and  Nora  not  the  frivo- 
lous one,  they  may  at  first  appear  to  be,  that  first  impression  is  cor- 
rected not  by  "secret"  impressions  and  insignificant  details  such  as 
Morgann  discovers,  but  by  subsequent  revelations  which  loom  large 
and  for  which  every  preparation  has  been  made.  They  do  not 
counteract  and  contradict;  they  consummate  and  fulfil;  and  the 
same  character  moves  and  wavers,  discloses  itself  and  shrinks 
together  again,  before  our  eyes.  Ibsen  makes  us  the  dupes,  not  of 
our  wisdom  but  of  our  stupidity,  and  then  for  no  more  than  moments. 
Such  plays,  however,  are  not  Shakespeare's;  his  involve  processes 
which  unfold  primarily  not  character  but  events;  and  at  the  end, 
except  for  casual  conversions,  his  characters  are  pretty  much  what 
they  were  at  the  beginning.  Falstaff  is  as  much  of  a  coward  sprawl- 
ing on  Shrewsbury  Field  as  running  down  Gadshill.  What,  then,  do 
these  facts  mean?  as  Mr.  Bradley  asks  after  having  detailed  the 
"secret  impressions."  "Does  Shakespeare  put  them  all  in  with  no 
purpose  at  all,  or  in  defiance  of  his  own  intention  ?  "  He  never  defies 
his  own  intention,  I  suppose,  save  in  the  hands  of  us  critics.  The 
incongruities,  as  I  hope  presently  to  show,  are  either  necessarily  or 
traditionally  involved  in  the  type  of  the  miles  gloriosus  which  he  is 
here  undertaking  to  exhibit;  or  they  are  incidental  to  the  current 
convention  of  the  professional  comic  person  on  the  stage;  or  else 
they  are  such  contradictions  and  irrelevancies  as  Shakespeare,  writ- 
ing for  the  stage  and  not  for  the  study,  slips  into  continually, 
examples  of  which  in  one  play  have,  with  admirable  discernment, 
been  collected  by  Mr.  Bradley  himself.^ 

Meantime  we  take  it  that,  standing  first,  "this  unfortunate 
affair"  of  Gadshill  is  meant  to  prejudice  us.  In  itself  it  is  an  example 
of  the  old  device  of  a  practical  joke  on  the  stage,  not  disdained  by 
Moliere  and  Goldoni,  Goldsmith  and  Sheridan,  any  more  than  by 
the  Elizabethans,  and  in  farce  not  extinct  today.  According  to 
Elizabethan  usage  a  foolish  character — a  braggart,  or  a  coward,  or  a 
conceited  ass  like  Malvolio,  or  even  a  merry  misogynist  like  Benedick 

1  Shakespearean  Tragedy,  pp.  265-68.  The  contradictions  involved  in  Shakespeare's 
time-references,  again,  are  without  number;  since  the  days  of  Wilson  they  have  been 
turned  into  a  miracle  of  art. 

202 


Falstaff  71 

— is,  by  conspiracy,  fooled  to  the  top  of  his  bent,  and  in  the  end  made 
aware  of  it  and  jeered  at.  Of  this  there  are  many  instances  in  the 
comedies  of  Shakespeare,  as  in  those  of  Marston,  Chapman,  Dekker, 
and  the  rest  of  the  craft.  Always  the  expectations  of  the  practical 
jokers — as  here  in  Falstaff 's  cowardly  conduct  and  "incomprehen- 
sible lies" — ^are  fulfilled,  and  the  victim's  ridiculous  sayings  and 
doings  cast  in  his  teeth.  Sometimes  he  loses  temper,  like  Malvolio 
and  Benedick;  sometimes  he  takes  to  his  wits  to  cover  his  retreat, 
like  Falstaff.  But  at  the  outset  he  steps  into  the  trap  laid  for  him, 
unawares.  There  is  no  instance  of  a  character  making  a  fool  of 
himself  on  purpose — playing  the  coward  on  purpose^  and  then 
playing  the  ludicrous  braggart  afterward.  To  an  audience  such  an 
ambiguous  situation  would  have  been  incomprehensible.  In  Part  II, 
when  the  Prince  and  Poins  overhear  Falstaff  slandering  them,  they 
force  him  this  time  to  admit  that  he  did  not  know  them  as  well  as 
the  Lord  that  made  them.  In  neither  incident  could  he  have  played 
a  part  any  more  than  ParoUes  when  he  slanders  and,  as  he  thinks, 
betrays  his  master  and  all  the  leaders  of  his  army;^  in  either  case  we 
have  a  convention,  a  bit  of  stage  language,  we  might  say,  almost 
as  precise  and  ascertainable  in  meaning  as  any  old  word  or  phrase 
in  the  text,  but  then  current  in  the  same  acceptation  on  the  Con- 
tinent and  in  after  times  as  well.  The  overhearing  and  confronting 
of  the  backbiter  or  plain-speaker  is  a  device  employed  in  Le  monde 
ou  Von  s'ennuie^  as  in  the  Fourberies  de  Sea-pin. 

There  are  indeed  some  few  instances  of  the  victim,  not  a  fool  as 
thought,  detecting  the  trap;  but  he  gets  even,  like  the  Merry  Wives 
of  Windsor,  not  by  stepping  into  it  with  a  still  smile,  but  by  leading 

'  Unlike  many,  Morgann  and  Mr.  Bradley  do  not  think  tliat  Falstaff  runs  away 
on  purpose,  tiiougli  tliey  do  think  that  liis  lying  afterward  is  in  jest.  Others  think  that 
he  takes  the  lilnt  and  turns  earnest  to  jest  in  the  midst  of  liis  bucliram  story; 

Prince:   Prithee  let  him  aione:    we  shall  have  more  anon. 

Fal.:   Dost  thou  hear  me.  Hal  7 

Prince:   Ay,  and  mark  thee  too,  Jack. 

Fal.:   Do  so,  for  it  is  worth  listening  to. 

The  first  speech  is  certainly  an  aside — by  the  second  that  is  clearly  indicated.  If 
at  the  last  speech  Falstaff  sees  that  he  is  detected,  still  he  does  not  save  his  reputation 
or  cleverness,  about  which  the  critics  are  concerned,  for  he  has  been  tripped  up  repeatedly 
already;   and  the  cardinal  stupidity  lies  in  the  tale  as  a  whole. 

2  AlVs  Well,  IV,  i. 

3  III,  i.  Darlcness  here  takes  the  place  of  disguise,  as  mistaken  identity  does  in  the 
Fourberies  where  Zerbinette  has  her  say  about  Gfironte  to  his  face. 

203 


72  Elmeb  Edgar  Stoll 

the  joker  into  it  or  setting  one  of  his  own.  In  that  case  the  victim 
makes  his  detection  of  the  trap  quite  clear  to  the  audience  in  aside 
or  soliloquy.  Whenever  in  Elizabethan  drama  a  character  is  feign- 
ing we  are  informed  of  it.  That  Prince  Hal  is  playing  the  roysterer 
on  purpose  he  himself  tells  us  twice  over,i  but  that  Falstaff  is  playing 
coward,  liar,  or  thief  on  purpose  is  intimated  neither  by  him  nor  by 
anyone  else. 

That  thus  we  read  Shakespeare,  not  by  his  own  light  only,  but 
also  by  that  of  his  contemporaries,  appears  from  the  parallel  situa- 
tion in  the  second  and  third  acts  of  the  First  Part  of  Heywood's 
Fair  Maid  of  the  West.^  Attacked  in  the  fields  by  Bess  in  the  dis- 
guise of  a  man,  the  boasting  and  swaggering  Roughman  shows  the 
white  feather,  but  afterward  boasts  to  her  of  his  deeds,  is  led  on  by 
her  simulated  interest  and  sympathy,  entangled  and  tripped  up  in 
his  lies,  and  finally  put  to  confusion  when  all  the  facts  are  laid  bare. 
Like  Falstaff  he  incurs  ridicule,  if  not  for  counting  noses  and  telling 
buckram  from  Kendal  green  when  it  is  so  dark  that  he  cannot  see 
his  own  hand,  at  least  for  justling  with  the  enemy  for  the  wall  in 
raid-field.  Like  Falstaff  he  tells  how  and  when  he  "took"  the 
blows  and  "put  them  by."  "I  was  never  so  put  to  it"  (I  never 
dealt  better).  "I  think  I  paid  him  home"  (seven  of  the  eleven  I 
paid).  "Scap'd  he  with  life  ?"  (pray  God,  you  have  not  murder'd 
some  of  them).  "Ay,  that's  my  fear:  if  he  recover  this,"  etc.  (nay, 
that's  past  praying  for).  That  Roughman  is  a  coward  no  one  can 
doubt,  "for  he  himself  has  said  it";'  and  manifestly  the  whole  point 
in  the  "reproof  of  his  lies,"  as  of  Falstaff 's,  is  the  ignominy  of 
cowardice.  The  two  things  are  inseparable;  no  dramatist — no 
one  but  a  metaphysician — would  think  of  separating  them,  or  of 
having  a  liar  confuted  who  is  lying  for  fun. 

Falstaff's  cowardice  appears  still  more  clearly  when  the  Gadshill 
incident  is  viewed  in  detail.  There  is  the  testimony  of  the  Prince, 
Poins,  and  Falstaff  himself.  Four  times  the  Prince  flatly  calls  him 
coward  to  his  face.*  The  only  time  Falstaff  attempts  to  deny  it — on 
Gadshill— the  Prince  replies,  "Well,  we  leave  that  to  the  proof"; 

1  Part  I,  I,  ii,  160,  218-40. 

2  Published  in  1631;  probably  written  belore  1603. 
s  Fair  Maid,  Part  I,  III,  i,  296  (.Worhs,  1874). 

r  <  Part  I,  II,  ii,  69;   iv.  268,  542;   Part  II,  II,  iv,  353. 

204 


Falstafp  73 

and  it  comes  speedily.  Poins's  estimate  of  his  character  has  been 
subjected  to  the  most  undramatic  and  hair-splitting  comment  imagi- 
nable:' "Well,  for  two  of  them,  I  know  them  to  be  as  true-bred 
cowards  as  ever  turned  back;  and  for  the  third,  if  he  fight  longer 
than  he  sees  reason,  I'll  forswear  arms"  (I,  ii,  205).  Certainly  the 
latter  half  of  the  sentence  contains  no  praise,  however  faint;  it  is 
followed  by  the  remark  about  "the  incomprehensible  lies  that  this 
same  fat  rogue  will  tell  us."  Here  or  anywhere  Poins,  or  Shakespeare 
himself,  is  not  the  man  to  distinguish  between  conduct  and  character, 
principles  and  constitution,  a  coward  and  a  courageously  consistent 
Epicurean;  and  this  can  only  be  a  case  of  understatement  and  irony. 
Falstafl  himself  admits  that  he  was  a  coward  on  instinct,^  and  at 
Shrewsbury  says  to  himself,  "I  fear  the  shot  here,"  "I  am  afraid  of 
this  Percy,"  and  makes  his  words  good  by  stabbing  the  corpse. 
Against  such  an  interpretation  Morgann  and  his  followers  murmur, 
bidding  us  remember  his  age  and  his  peculiar  philosophy,  the  cor- 
rupting example  of  his  associates,  the  odds  against  him,  and  the  sud- 
denness of  the  assault;  but  on  the  Elizabethan  comic  stage,  or  any 
popular  stage,  where  of  course  there  are  no  relentings  toward  cow- 
ardice (there  being  none  even  toward  things  beyond  control,  as 
cuckoldom,  poverty,  physical  ugliness,  or  meanness  of  birth),  nobody 
confesses  to  fear  but  a  coward,  a  child,  or  a  woman.  All  of  Shake- 
speare's cowards,  like  his  villains,  bear  their  names  written  in  their 
foreheads,  and  his  true  men,  like  Don  Quixote  in  the  eyes  of  Sancho, 
neither  know  nor  understand  what  fear  or  dismay  is. 

How  little  Morgann  regarded  dramatic  method  and  stage-craft 
is  nowhere  more  evident  than  at  this  early  moment  in  the  episode: 

Peio:        How  many  be  there  of  them  ? 

Gadshill:  Some  eight  or  ten. 

Fal.:         Zounds,  will  they  not  rob  us  ? 

Prince:     What,  a  coward.  Sir  John  Paunch? 

Fal.:        Indeed,  I  am  not  John  of  Gaunt,  etc.^II,  ii. 

This  he  finds  to  be  hardly  more  of  a  confession'  than  the  Prince's 
own  remark  to  Poins  as  they  plan  their  trick  in  the  second  scene  of 
Act  I:  "Yea,  but  I  doubt  they  will  be  too  hard  for  us."     The  latter 

■  By  Morgann  first,  and,  without  the  hair-splitting,  by  many  after  him,  including 
Swinburne  and  Bradley. 

'  Part  I,  II,  iv,  300-301.  '  P.  126. 

205 


74  Elmer  Edgar  Stoll 

remark  is  casual,  being  meant  only  to  call  forth  Poins's  comment 
(quoted  above)  on  their  companions'  timorous  natures,  whereas 
Falstaff's  speech  is  uttered  after  the  limelight  has  been  turned  full 
upon  him — the  audience  has  been  apprised  of  his  cowardice,  the 
business  is  afoot,  and  the  booty  at  hand.  Thus  everything  has  been 
nicely  calculated  to  give  his  abrupt  exclamation  full  comic  value  and 
"bring  down  the  house,"  as  anybody  would  see  but  one  who  on 
principle  had  already  blurred  dramatic  perspective  and  jumbled 
"values." 

'f  That  Falstaff  is  not  dissembling  is  still  more  evident  from  the 
management  of  the  ensuing  scene.  Immediately  after  the  robbery 
of  the  travelers  he  calls  Poins  and  the  Prince  cowards,  and  swaggers. 
Now  the  coward  charging  the  brave  with  cowardice,'  like  the  coward 
boasting  of  his  courage,^  is  a  perennial  situation,  on  the  stage  or  off 
it.  ParoUes,  Panurge,  the  two  Jodelets  of  Scarron,  and  the  cowards 
of  the  "  character  "-writers  are  examples;  and  in  our  time  an  audi- 
ence knows  as  well  what  it  means  when  such  a  charge  comes  from  the 
lips  of  one  already  discredited  as  when  a  drunken  man  declares  that 
he  is  not  drunk.  To  clinch  the  business,  immediately  upon  his  words 
follows  the  ironical  dramatic  reversal  and  traditional  comic  situation 
of  the  robbery  of  the  robbers,'  and  the  fat  rogue  roaring  and  running 
away.  What  dunce  in  the  audience  could  now  fail  to  follow  the 
drift  ?  And  when  Falstaff,  with  his  craven  crew,  bursts  in,  sweating 
to  death,  upon  Hal  and  Poins  at  the  inn,  he  still  cries  out  on  cowards, 
again  and  again,  as  he  drinks.  Then,  when  he  has  caught  his  breath, 
come  the  "incomprehensible  lies"  of  the  men  in  buckram  and 
Kendal  green,  the  acting  out  of  the  combat— wards,  blows,  and 
extremities — and  the  swindling  exhibit  of  battered  buckler,  bloodied 
garments,  and  hacked  sword.  And  just  like  the  coward  denying 
his  cowardice  and  the  drunken  man  denying  his  drunkenness,  he 
now  cries,  "I  tell  thee  what,  Hal,  if  I  tell  thee  a  lie,  spit  in  my  face, 
call  me  horse!"     "Wilt  thou  believe  me,  Hal?"  he  says  on  a  like 

'  Basilisco,  Soliman  and  Perseda  (1588),  II,  ii.  67-80;  III.  ii,  30;  Parolles,  Alls 
Well.  IV,  iii,  321;  Jodelet,  Maitre-VaUt.  I,  iii  and  v;  Jodelet  Duetlisle:  Panurge,  Rabelais, 
IV,  chap.  24.  John  Earle,  Microcosmography  (1628),  The  Coward;  "A  coward  is  the 
man  that  is  commonly  most  fierce  against  the  coward." 

»  All  cowards  in  the  drama  boast.  CI.,  besides  those  cited  above,  the  popular  types, 
Capitano,  Harlequin,  Scaramouche.     Cf.  Maurice  Sand,    Masques  ei  Bouffons,  H,  25S. 

3  Eckhardt.   Die  lustige  Person,  pp.  151-52.  ■     ,' 

206 


Falstaff  76 

occasion,  again  much  misdoubting  in  his  bluster;  "three  or  four 
bonds  apiece  and  a  seal  ring  of  my  grandfather's."  We  have  seen 
him  fighting,  we  know  his  "old  ward"  and  how  he  "bore  his  point," 
and  at  these  we  laugh  as  at  the  "eight-penny  matter"  of  the  bonds 
and  ring.  Even  if  we  should  suspect  him  of  saying  it  all  for  fun,  on 
the  spur  of  the  moment,  we  now  learn  from  blushing  Bardolph  of 
"his  monstrous  devices" — that  like  the  cowardly  Dericke  of  the 
Famous  Victories  of  Henry  F'  he  had  persuaded  them  all  to  tickle 
their  noses  with  speargrass,  and  to  hack  their  swords  with  their 
daggers.  As  the  precious  coward  Parolles,  who  thinks  also  of  cutting 
his  garments  and  breaking  his  Spanish  sword,  plans  to  do,  he  had 
given  himself  some  hurts,  though  "slight"  ones,  and  now  swears 
he  had  "got  them  in  exploit."^  Here  are  all  the  conventional  and 
traditional  tricks  of  cowardice,'  and  on  the  exposure  of  cowardice 
the  comic  effect  of  the  scene  depends  as  much  as  on  the  reproof 
of  the  lies. 

Ah!  je  le  veux  charger  ce  maistre  fanfaron: 
On  ne  peut  I'estre  tant,  et  n'estre  pas  poltron. 

Just  there  is  the  point  of  twitting  him  with  his  boasting  lies  and 
excuses;  but  twice  in  the  scene  the  Prince  calls  him  coward  into 
the  bargain,  and  casts  it  up  to  him  that  he  "hacked  his  sword  and 
then  said  it  was  in  fight. "^  "What  a  slave  art  thou!"  Hal  says 
truly. 

Nor  by  his  shifts  and  evasions,  "I  knew  ye"  and  "instinct," 
does  he  come  off  safe  and  sound.  Throughout  the  rest  of  the  scene 
and  even  in  Part  II  he  is  twitted  with  them.*  "No  more  of  that, 
Hal,"  he  cries,  "an  thou  lovest  me";  and  that  is  not  the  tone 
of  triumph.  Even  in  the  midst  of  this  scene  his  cowardice  breaks 
out  spontaneously  anew.  "Zounds,"  cries  Poins,  "an  ye  call  me 
coward,  I'll  stab  thee."    And  the  fat  man  sidles  off,  comically  enough 

'  15S5-8S.  As  is  well  known.  Shakespeare  was  acquainted  with  the  play,  and  drew 
from  it  the  traits  of  Falstaff's  cowardice,  thievishness.  and  loose  Uving,  the  touches  of 
repentance  and  sanctimoniousness,  and  liis  friendship  with  Hal. 

!See  All's  Well,  IV,  i.  for  all  these  details;    cf.  Pistol,  Henry  V,  V,  i.  93-94: 
And  patches  wUl  I  get  unto  these  cudgell'd  scars. 
And  swear  I  got  them  in  the  Gallia  wars. 

3  Aside  from  the  other  instances  cited,  there  is  that  in  Tbeophrastus,  Characters, 
cap.  XXV.  iii.  where  the  coward  "smears  himself  with  another's  blood  to  show,"  etc. 
'II,  iv,  2SS:    "Coward":   Unes  268,  5-12. 
'  II,  iv,  332-35. 

207 


76  Elmer  Edgar  Stoll 

giving  the  words  just  on  his  lips  the  lie:  "I  call  thee  coward!  I'll 
see  thee  damned  ere  I  call  thee  coward/'^  etc.  Just  so  he  falters 
and  his  bluster  rings  loud  but  hollow  when  in  Part  II  the  Servant 
of  the  Chief-Justice  begs  leave  to  tell  him  that  he  lies  in  his  throat. 
"I  give  thee  leave  to  tell  me  so!  If  thou  gettest  any  leave  of  me, 
hang  me!"^ 

Through  the  rest  of  the  play  his  cowardice  is,  as  Morgann  droUy 
confesses,  still  "thrust  forward  and  pressed  upon  our  notice."' 
Shakespeare  will  have  him  a  coward  if  Morgann  won't.  When 
he  hears  the  news  of  the  uprising  he  ingenuously  asks  the  Prince 
whether  he  is  not  horribly  afeard,  and  in  reply  is  told  that  the 
Prince  lacks  some  of  his  instinct.  When  ordered  off  to  the  North 
he  wishes  this  tavern  were  his  drum;  and  on  the  eve  of  the  fray 
he  whimpers,  "I  would  'twere  bed-time,  Hal,  and  all  well,"*  and 
then  says  his  catechism  of  dishonor.  Standing  by  as  Hal  and 
Hotspur  come  together,  he  proves  to  be  as  good  at  encouraging 
others  to  fight  as  the  white-livered  Moron  and  Panurge.^  Then  he 
falls  flat  and  feigns  death  like  clowns  and  cowards  in  the  hour  of 
danger,  not  in  England  only  but  in  contemporary  Germany,  Spain, 
and  Italy,*  and  above  all  sets  the  seal  on  his  cowardice  by  the  das- 
tardly blow  and  by  hatching  the  scheme  to  take  the  honor  of  killing 
Hotspur  to  himself.  "I'll  swear  I  killed  him,"  he  says,  "nothing 
confutes  me  but  eyes  and  nobody  sees  me";  and  could  anything 
more  effectively  contradict  the  opinion  that  he  "stood  on  the  ground 

1 11,  iv.  160.  !  Part  II,  I,  ii,  99;   cf.  II,  iv,  344.  s  Pp.  3,  47. 

•  "This  articulated  wish  is  not  the  fearful  outcry  of  a  coward,  but  the  frani  and 
honest  breathing  of  a  generous  fellow,  who  does  not  expect  to  be  seriously  reproached 
with  the  character"  (Morgann,  p.  83).  Even  in  our  day,  on  the  stage  or  off  it,  a  char- 
acter of  Falstafl's  reputation  would  not  risk  the  confession  with  impunity.  How  much 
less  in  more  rough-and-ready  times  I 

'  Princesae  d' Elide,  I.  iii,  where,  perched  in  a  tree.  Moron  urges  on  the  archers  to 
kill  the  bear;   and  Rabelais,  II,  chap.  29,  where  Panurge  cheers  on  his  master. 

•  Locrine  (1586),  II,  vi,  Strumbo:  Beolco  (Ruzzante),  First  Dialogue;  see  Creize- 
nach,  IV,  340,  for  both;  Cicognlni,  Convitato  di  Pietra  (published  before  1650),  sc.  7, 
where  Passarino  falls  flat  to  save  himself,  though  not  by  feigning  death;  Calderon, 
Principe  Constante,  I,  xiv,  Brito,  the  gracioso;  and  for  this  "business"  in  contemporary 
Germany  cf.  Creizenach,  Englische  Comodianten,  p.  cv.  In  Have  with  You  to  Saffron 
Walden  (1596),  moreover,  Nash,  referring  to  an  epigram  of  Campion's  on  Barnabe 
Barnes,  and  much  exaggerating  the  tenor  of  the  te.xt,  remarks:  "He  shewes  how  hee 
bragd  when  he  was  in  France  he  slue  ten  men,  when  (fearfull  cowbaby  [coward])  he 
never  heard  peice  shot  off  but  he  fell  flat  on  his  face."  And  in  the  character  of  the' 
"coward"  Nicholas  Breton  (TAe  Goode  and  the  Badde,  1616)  says  that  he  "falls  flat  on 
his  face  when  he  hears  the  cannon." 

208 


Falstaff  77 

of  natural  courage  only  and  common  sense,  and  renounced  that 
grinning  idol  of  military  zealots,  honor,"'  than  his  undertaking,  like 
the  pitiful  poltroons,  Pistol,  Parolles,  and  Bessus,^  to  filch  "bright 
honor,"  which  the  man  fallen  at  his  feet  had  boldly  plucked  ?  Such 
wreaking  of  one's  self  on  a  dead  body,  moreover,  is,  like  his  "playing 
possum,"  one  of  the  established  lazzi  of  the  coward  on  the  stage. 
Moron  beats  the  bear  once  it  is  dead;  the  Franc  Archier  de  BaigTiol- 
let  (c.  1480)  beats  the  scarecrow  once  he  recognizes  it  as  such,  and  in 
Shakespeare's  time  clowns  played  pranks  on  corpses  both  in  England 
and  in  Germany.'  Here  in  the  battle,  then,  is  a  little  heap  of 
situations,  lazzi,  or  bits  of  business,  all  stamped  as  those  of  a  coward, 
not  only  intrinsically,  but  by  immemorial  custom;  and  it  is  difficult 
to  see  how  Shakespeare  could  have  effaced  that  impression  even  had 
he  tried. 

In  the  Second  Part  the  "satyr,  lecher,  and  parasite"  in  FalstafI 
are  uppermost,  and  the  captain  rests  on  his  laurels.  But  we  all 
know  how  they  were  won,  and  cannot  take  to  heart  his  reputation 
for  valor  with  certain  ladies  of  Eastcheap,  Justice  Shallow,  or  even 
the  enemy  at  Shrewsbury  and  at  Gaultree  Forest.  The  effect  of 
Dame  Quickly's  and  Doll  Tearsheet's  praise  of  his  prowess  in 
stabbing  and  foining  would  be  inconsiderable  even  if,  with  most 
of  the  English  critics,  including  Professor  Bradley  himself,*  we  failed 
to  detect  the  palpable  double  entendre.^    And  what  a  witness  is 

'  Morgann.  p.  103. 

a  Beaumont  and  Fletcher's  A  King  and  No  King.  He  declares  to  the  audience  that 
he  will  swear  that  the  knife  in  his  hand  is  all  that  is  left  of  the  sword  which  he  had  vowed 
to  make  his  enemy  eat.     For  Pistol  and  Parolles  see  above,  p.  75. 

'  Princesse  d' Elide,  Interm. ;  Recueil  Picot  et  Nyrop,  line  35.5.  Their  motives,  of 
course, are  different,  for  Falstafl's  Is  his  fear  that  Hotspur  may  come  to  life  and  hia 
craving  for  the  honor  and  profit  of  killing  him;  cf.  Creizenach,  Englische  ComBdianCen, 
p.  cv;  Romeo  and  Juliet,  III,  i,  145  (Creizenach).  In  Soliman  and  Perseda  Piston  robs 
a  corpse  (II,  i). 

*  Oxford  Lectures,  p.  266. 

'Part  II,  II,  i,  15;  II.  iv,  252.  For  the  former  cf.  Schmidt's  Lexicon  under  stab. 
and  Julius  Caesar,  I,  ii.  277.  As  for  the  second  reference,  foin  must  be  used  with  the 
meaning  evident  in  Beaumont  and  Fletcher's  Loyal  Subject,  I,  iv;  Thierry  and  Theodoret, 
II,  iii.  So  Part  II,  II.  i,  21-22,  thrust;  cf.  the  frequent  instances  of  double  entendre  in  the 
words  pike,  lance,  target,  etc.  Their  equivalents  are  to  be  found  contemporaneously  in 
foreign  languages,  as  Italian;  for  such  jokes  are  international.  And  the  obscene  joke  so 
certain  in  atab,  foin,  and  thrust,  which  immediately  precede  and  follow  Quickly's  remark 
that  "a'  cares  not  what  mischief  he  does  if  his  weapon  be  out"  (I.  16),  casts  grave  sus- 
picion even  on  its  simplicity  and  honesty  of  purpose,  though  not  in  Mr.  Bradley's  eyes 
(.ibid.). 

209 


78  Elmer  Edgar  Stoll 

Shallow,  whose  "every  third  word  is  a  lie,"  whose  every  word  is 
ludicrous!  Well  might  Falstaff  break  Skogan's  head  ("some  boister- 
ous fencer,"  thinks  Morgann,  but  really  Court  Fool)  on  that  day 
in  the  calendar  when  Shallow  himself  fought  Sampson  Stockfish, 
fruiterer!^  That  was  a  day  that  ended  "without  the  perdition  of 
souls."  And  a  ballad,  as  Falstaff  says,  not  sober  history,  is  the 
place  for  his  capture  of  Colville  and  drubbing  of  Pistol.  The  Ancient 
ran  from  him  like  quicksilver;  and  Colville  surrendered  "more  of  his 
courtesy,"  says  Lancaster,  "than  your  deserving."  Our  knight's 
reputation  for  valor  had  been  as  lightly  won  as  that  of  Bessus,  though 
he  has  not  Bessus'  reason  to  lament  it.^  Obviously  Lancaster  and 
the  audience  know  more  about  that  and  his  character,  too,  than 
Colville,  and  if  Shakespeare  had  had  any  notion  of  redeeming  him 
in  our  eyes,  he  would  not  have  had  his  "pure  and  immaculate 
valor"  snubbed  by  his  chief. 

The  famous  soliloquy  which  follows,  on  sack  as  the  cause  of  all 
wit  and  valor,  is  the  epilogue  to  the  old  reveller's  military  career  and 
an  epitome  of  his  character.  It  is  an  old  saw  and  familiar  fact 
that  wine  makes  cowards  brave,'  and  Falstaff  speaks  out  (though 
behind  his  hand)  when  he  says  that  men  are  but  fools  and  cowards 
without  it. 

(KAfter  this  nmning  comment  on  the  two  Parts  of  Henry  7F  we 
might,  if  it  were  necessary,  further  strengthen  the  case  against 
Falstaff's  courage  by  considering  how  Shakespeare's  character  con- 
tinues and  develops*  the  dramatic  and  legendary  tradition  concern- 
ing Sir  John  Fastolf,  or  Falstaff,^  and  Sir  John  Oldcastle,  Lord 
Cobham.  As  is  well  known  our  knight  bore  the  name  Oldcastle. 
in  the  original  draft  of  Part  I,  like  the  cowardly,  thievish  loose-liver 

'  For  the  coward  fighting  a  coward,  see  below,  p.  83.  Stockfish  was  "haddocke  or 
hake  beaten  with  clubbes  or  stockes,"  and  a  fruiterer  was  at  least  as  tame  as  a  tailor. 

2  A  King  and  No  King,  III,  ii.  Like  Falstaff's  it  is  not  of  his-  earning,  and  it  em- 
barrasses him  with  challenges.  Falstaff  indeed  complains  of  his  name  being  terrible  to 
the  enemy,  but  there  he  is  frankly  joking, 

'  Somerville,  The  Wife,  1.  27.  It  is  a  notion  found  in  popular  lore,  as  in  the  story 
of  the  mouse  which,  after  drinking  spilt  brandy,  cries,  "  Now  bring  on  that  cati "  On  the 
stage.  Lady  Macbeth  confesses  that  she  has  drunk  wine  to  stiffen  her  nerves;  and  the 
heroine  in  La  Tosca  actually  drinks  it. 

*  For  this  see  W.  Baeske,  Oldcasile-Falstaff  bis  Shakespeare. 

'  In  plays  at  least  the  name  is  spelled  both  ways.  See  J.  Gairdner,  Studies  in  Eng- 
lish History,  pp.  64—65. 

210 


Falstafp  79 

in  the  Famous  Victories.  These  traits  as  well  as  the  rags  and  tatters 
of  piety  which  both  have  about  them  are  taken  from  the  Lollard  as 
traduced  in  monkish  chronicle  and  popular  song.  And  when,  at 
the  complaint  of  the  contemporary  Lord  Cobham,  Shakespeare  was 
moved  to  make  amends  to  the  martyr  in  the  epilogue  to  Part  II, 
and  change  the  name  to  Falstaff  in  the  text,  he  dropped  one  coward 
of  popular  and  dramatic  tradition  only  to  take  up  another.  In  the 
First  Part  of  Henry  VI,  Act  III,  scene  ii,  Sir  John  Fastolf,  who  in 
fact  lost  a  battle  in  France,  runs  ignominiously  away  to  "save  him- 
self." In  real  life  both  Sir  Johns  were  brave  and  worthy  fellows;' 
they  are  thus  overwhelmed  with  obloquy  because  in  the  popular 
imagination  one  charge,  as  this  of  heresy^  or  that  of  cowardice, 
brings  every  other  in  its  trail;'  but  all  that  concerns  us  here  is  that 
in  Shakespeare  they  are  cowards  because  they  were  that  before. 
Our  poet  always  stands  by  public  opinion,  and  his  English  kings  or 
Roman  heroes  are  to  him  what  they  were  to  his  age.  Even  to  the 
dramatist  of  our  day,  as  Mr.  Archer  observes,  "a  hero  must  be  (more 
or  less)  a  hero,  a  villain  (more  or  less)  a  villain,  if  accepted  tradition 
so  decrees  it  ...  .  Fawkes  must  not  be  made  an  earnest  Presby- 
terian, Nell  Gwynn  a  model  of  chastity,  or  William  the  Silent 
a  chatterbox."     Sit  Medea  ferox  invictaque,  flebilis  Ino. 

I  have  suggested  that  many  of  the  "  secret  impressions  of  courage  "     / 
are  contradictions  inherent  in  the  type  of  the  braggart  captain. 
For  to  this  type  Falstaff  unquestionably  belongs.     He  has  the  in- 
creasing belly  and  decreasing  leg,*  the  diminutive  page  for  a  foil, 
the  weapon  (his  pistol)  that  is  no  weapon,  but  a  fraud, ^  as  well  as 

1  For  Falstaff  previous  to  Shakespeare  see  Gairdner,  the  Dictionary  of  National 
Biography  (Oldcastle  and  Pastoll),  and  Baeske. 

'  As  has  been  remarked,  I  think,  by  others,  the  Lollard  Oldcastle  as  buffoon  is  a 
parallel  to  the  "  Christian"  as  a  stock  comic  figure  in  the  late  Greek  mimus. 

»  See  below,  p.  SO.  •  Part  II,  I,  11,  204. 

» Aristophanes'  Kleonymus  is  of  enormous  size ;  PyrgopoUnices  has  long  spindling 
legs,  and  most  of  the  braggart  soldiers  have  these,  or  a  big  paunch,  or,  like  the  Maccus 
of  the  atellans  and  sometimes  PollchineUe,  both  the  one  and  the  other.  Lilce  the  two  latter 
characters  and  the  English  Punch,  strange  to  say,  Falstaff,  in  Morgann's  time  and  per- 
haps earUer,  was  represented  with  a  hump  behind  as  well  as  before;  for  (p.  26)  he  recalls 
with  horror  the  "round  tortoise-back,"  produced  by  "  I  know  not  what  stuffing  or  con- 
trivance." Sancho  Panza  begins  as  a  miles,  for  (I,  chap.  9)  he  has  a  big  belly,  short 
flgiore,  and  long  legs,  though  afterward  we  hear  no  more  of  them.  For  the  weapon  see 
below.  Their  courage  being  called  in  question,  as  is  the  case  with  the  above  characters 
and  with  Falstaff  and  Sir  Tophas,  it  is  in  the  spirit  of  ancient  and  Renaissance  comic  art, 
which  delighted  in  physical  contrasts,  that  their  size  of  itself  should  almost  be  sufficient 

211 

/ 


J 


80  Elmer  Edgab  Stoll 

most  of  the  inner  qualities  of  this  ancient  stage-figure — cowardice 
and  outlandish  bragging,  gluttony  and  lechery,  sycophancy  and 
pride.  Also  he  is  a  recruiting  officer  and  (though  in  the  Merry  Wives 
of  Windsor)  a  suitor  gulled.^  All  these  traits  are  manifest,  except 
his  sycophancy,  which  appears  in  his  dependence  on  the  Prince  and 
his  cajoling  ways  with  him;  and  except  his  pride,  which  appears 
in  his  insistence  on  his  title  on  every  occasion,''  and  in  his  reputation 
for  a  proud  jack  among  the  drawers.'  Lyly's  Sir  Tophas,  Jonson's 
Bobadill  and  Tucca,  Beaumont's  Bessus,  Chapman's  Braggadino 
and  Quintiliano,*  Ralph  Roister  Doister,  Ambidexter,  and  Thersites, 
as  well  as  Shakespeare's  Pistol,  Don  Armado,  and  Parolles,  have  most 
or  many  of  these  traits;  and  these  descend  to  them,  if  not  from  the 
classics  directly,  from  the  Italian  popular  miles,  Capitano  Spa- 
vento.^  The  English  and  Italian  specimens  differ  from  those  of 
Plautus  in  that  they  are  impecunious,  the  unwelcome  parasites 
of  tailor,  barber,  or  landlady,  not  the  patrons  of  parasites. 
Falstaff  is  both  the  one  and  the  other.'  Unlike  most  braggart 
captains,  however,  he  is  not  silly  and  affected — those  qualities  were 
reserved  for  Pistol — ^but  is  a  jester  and  a  wit.  It  is  this  circumstance 
no  doubt  that  has  made  critics,  even  of  late,  declare  that  the  impres- 
sion of  his  character  is  quite  different,  and  is  therefore  not  that  of  a 
coward.  But  all  the  other  traits  save  paunch  and  spindle-shanks 
are  also  the  traits  of  famous  clowns — Panurge,  Sosie,  Folengo's 
Cingar,  Scarron's  Jodelet — and  even  now  a  clown  not  a  coward  is 
a  rarity  on  the  stage.  In  that  day  of  unanalytical  but  prodigally 
copious  characterization,  whereby  on  the  stage,  or,  as  in  the  case  of 
Machiavelli,  Luther,  or  Oldcastle  himself,  in  popular  tradition,  a 

to  substantiate  the  charge.  "When  did  you  see  a  black  beard  with  a  white  liver,"  says 
Heywood,  "  or  a  little  fellow  without  a  tall  stomach  ?" 

Capitano  Spavento  has  a  paggio;  Ralph  Roister  Doister,  Dobinet  Doughtie;  Sir 
Tophas,  Epiton;  Don  Armado,  Moth.  (Reich.).  Generally,  like  Palstafl's,  the  page  is 
pert  and  impudent. 

'  Both  features  are  in  Pyrgopollnices. 

'  Part  II,  II,  ii,  118.  '  Part  I,  II,  iv,  11. 

<  See  Creizenach,  IV,  350.  For  some  details  of  the  type  I  am  indebted  also  to 
H.  Graf,  Miles  Gloriosus  (Rostock  dissertation,  1892). 

'Other  names:  Spezzafer,  Fracasso,  Matamoros,  Spezza-Monti,  Giangurgolo, 
Vappo,  Rogantino,  etc.;    Sand. 

•  He  has  his  landlady  and  tailor;  has  his  gull  Shallow  as  Quintiliaho  has  his  Inno- 
centio  and  Giovanelli,  and  Bobadill  has  his  Matthew;  and  yet  he  keeps  Bardolph  and 
perhaps  Peto  and  Nym. 

212 


Falstaff  81 

villain  engrosses  all  criminal  traits  and  a  professional  comic  char- 
acter all  vicious  ones,'  Falstaff  (as  clown)  already  a  cheat,  a  liar,  a 
boaster,  a  glutton,  a  lecher,  and  a  thief,  could  hardly  help  being  a 
coward  as  well. 

Much  has  been  said  about  Falstaff  being  done  from  the  life — 
even  with  George  Peele  or  Henry  Chettle  for  a  model — but  except 
in  tone  or  in  tricks  of  manner  it  is  now  evident  that  this  could  not 
be.  The  wholemanor  the  tithe  of  him  never  trod  the  earth.  Much, 
too,  has  been  said  of  the  Capitano  and  the  Matamore  arising  out 
of  intestine  turmoil  in  Italy  and  the  Spanish  invasion,  of  the  miles 
gloriosus  arising  out  of  the  Roman  wars  in  Asia  and  Africa,  and  of  the 
Alazon  out  of  the  Alexandrian  conquests.  Something  similar  has 
been  said  of  the  servus  fallax  of  Roman  comedy,  but  Sellar's  remark 
fits  not  only  this  case  but  the  others.  "Though  a  wonderful  con- 
ception of  the  humorous  imagination,  it  is  a  character  hardly  com- 
patible with  any  social  conditions."^  Nothing  is  so  rare  as  realism 
— nothing  in  itself  so  hateful  to  the  public  or  by  name  so  dear.  The 
braggart  .captains',  the  valets  who  beat  and  bamboozle  their  masters, 
the  nurses  and  chambermaids  who  scold  them  and  thwart  them  in 
every  wish,  the  women  who  put  their  husbands  in  bodily  fear,  and 
the  timid  and  pure-minded  maidens  who  upon  provocation  make 
love,  and  in  men's  clothing  seek  the  beloved  through  field  and  forest 
in  lands  remote,' — all  please  only  by  their  rarity  or  unreality,  being 
incompatible  with  conditions  under  which  women  and  servants 
knew  no  liberty,  and  a  soldier  stood  or  fell  by  his  personal  prowess 
alone.     He   sees   deeper  who   finds    that    the   marvelous   exploits 

'  See  below,  p.  104.  Jodelet  has  been  called:  "insolent,  lubrique,  hSbleur,  et  pardes- 
sus  tout  poltron."  Of  the  vices  of  Panurge  Rabelais  (II,  chap.  16)  gives  a  famous 
catalogue,  including  lewdness,  cozening,  drinking,  roystering,  and  thieving,  but  for- 
getting the  rest  of  them — boasting,  cruelty,  and  cowardice.  Cingar  and  Pulci's  Margutte 
have  a  still  more  formidable  array  of  merry  sins.  And  the  same  lavish  style  appears  in 
other  characters  of  the  old  Italian  popular  comedy  than  the  Capitano,  as  the  Bucco  of 
the  atellans,  who  was  "sufflsant,  flatteur,  fanfaron,  voleur,  lache";  and  Pulcinella.  who 
besides  these  qualities  inherits  those  of  the  Maccus,  "  vif,  spirituel.  un  peuferoce"  (Sand, 
I,  126).  Compare  in  the  sixteenth  century  the  popular  mythopoeic  characterization  of 
Machiavelli  among  the  northern  nations,  especially  in  the  drama,  and  of  Luther  among 
the  southern. 

'Poets  of  the  Republic  (Oxford,  1889),  p.  170. 

*  Those  acquainted  with  the  criticism  of  Shakespeare  and  Molifere  will  remember  that 
both  a  free-spoken  soubrette,  Toinette  or  Dorine,  and  Rosalind,  with  her  gallant  curtle- 
axe  upon  her  thigh,  have  been  thought  representative  of  their  times.  Yet  for  a  century 
before  in  the  novelle  and  comedies  of  Italy  and  Spain,  where  maidens  were  guarded 
jealously,  they,  too,  go  seeking  their  lovers  in  male  attire. 

213 


/ 


82  Elmer  Edgar  Stoll 

of  Alexander  provoked  a  boasting  spirit  of  irony  and  satire  in 
the  Athenian  public  and  playwrights.*  Hence — directly  out  of 
the  humorous  imagination — ^these  creations  so  extravagant  and 
improbable. 

The  braggart  captain,  indeed,  is  incompatible  with  himself. 
Cowards  do  not  go  to  war,  or,  if  driven  to  it,  do  not  become  captains. 
Or  if  even  that  is  not  beyond  the  compass  of  chance  and  their  own 
contriving,  the  clever  ones  do  not  boast  so  extravagantly  as  to  rob 
themselves  of  credence  and  engage  themselves  in  undertakings  which 
it  is  farthest  from  their  wish  to  fulfil.  The  huge  and  delectable 
contrasts  of  the  old  comedy  involve  contradictions  as  huge,  and 
the  spectators  blinked  fact — ^if  indeed  they  were  not  blind  to  it— 
in  the  throes  of  their  laughter.  After  Gadshill  a  fellow  so  clever 
would  neither  have  let  his  lies  grow  on  his  hands  nor — except  on 
the  defensive — have  undertaken  to  lie  at  all.  But  how  tame  for 
an  Elizabethan,  to  whom  what  is  "gross,  open,  palpable"  was  a 
delight!  Bulthaupt  seriously  wonders  why  Falstaff  went  to  war, 
and  concludes  that  he  went  exalted  through  his  humor  above  all 
fear,'  and  as  we  have  seen,  Morgann  (and  many  a  critic  since) 
has  thought  it  fine  and  brave  of  him,  and  has  dwelt  fondly  on 
the  Prince's  preference  of  him  to  others  Tor  a  charge  of  foot,  on 
a  dozen'  bareheaded  sweating  captains  knocking  at  taverns  and 
asking  everyone  for  Sir  John  Falstaff,  or  on  Falstaff's  leading*  his 
men  where  they  are  peppered.  He  might  as  well  wonder  why  a 
monster  of  a  miser  like  Harpagon  keeps  a  coach  and  horses,  a  cook 
and  a  troop  of  servants,  and  conclude  that  he  must  be  generous  and 
open-handed  after  all.  It  is  on  the  stage — ^it  is  in  a  comedy — and 
he  keeps  his  servants  to  stint  them,  and  the  horses  to  get  up  nights 
and  steal  away  their  oats.^  And  Falstaff  goes  to  the  wars  to  say  his 
catechism,  brandish  a  bottle  for  a  pistol,  fall  dead,  joke,  cheat,  and 

■  O.  Ribbeck,  Alazon,  pp.  32-34. 

'  Dramalurgie,  II,  74.  He  has  reached  a  state  of  philosophic  calm.  "Er  scheint 
seiner  selbst  so  sicher  dass  er  seine  Ruhe  Oder  die  Freiheit  seiner  Seele  auch  in  der  krit- 
ischsten  Lage  nicht  zu  verUeren  fiirchtet."  Bradley  speaks  of  his  having  "risen  superior 
to  all  serious  motives." 

'  A  ballad-like  exaggeration  such  as  Shakespeare  indulges  himself  in  when  it  costs 
the  company  notliing.  Like  Capulet's  "twenty  cunning  cooks"  they  "stay  at  door" — 
do  not  tread  the  stage. 

<  Mr.  Bradley  comments  on  the  fact  that  it  is  "led"  not  "sent." 

'  A  point  made  by  Sarcey. 

214 


Falstafp  83 

lie.  In  that  day  of  prodigious  contrasts  and  unchartered  mirth  a 
coward  who  does  not  rob  on  the  highway  or  follow  the  wars — is 
no  coward.  To  impute  it  to  Falstaff's  courage  that  he  is  in  demand 
on  the  eve  of  war  and  goes  to  war  without  murmuring  would  mean 
that  we  must  do  the  like  to  Parolles,  who  yearns  for  the  wars  in 
Italy  and  persuades  his  master  to  take  him  there;  and  to  those 
"true-bred  cowards"  Ancient  Pistol,  Lieutenant  Bardolph,  and 
Corporal  Nym,  who,  in  the  later  play,  follow  the  heroic  young  king 
into  France.  Falstaff  goes  to  war  to  furnish  matter  for  comedy, 
the  Prince  gives  him  a  charge  to  get  him  to  the  war,  and  the  dozen 
captains  come  sweating  to  fetch  the  laggard  to  his  charge.' 

Two  situations  in  which  Falstaff  is  placed  are  connnected  with 
the  miles  gloriosus  traditionally.  The  coward  taking  a  captive  is 
an  incongruous  and  mirth-provoking  situation  which  Shakespeare 
repeats  in  Henry  V  when  Pistol,  who,  according  to  the  Boy,  has 
not  a  tenth  of  even  Nym's  or  Bardolph's  valor,  captures  Monsieur 
le  Fer;  and  it  appears  before  that  in  the  fine  old  French  farce  of 
Colin,  fils  de  Thenot  le  Maire,  where  the  hero,  boasting  of  a  prisoner, 
is  afraid  to  fetch  him  in  because  of  his  iron-bound  staff,  though  he 
turns  out  to  be  a  German  pilgrim,  not  a  Turk.  Even  so,  Colin,  like 
Falstaff  and  Pistol,  might  well  "thank  thee  for  thee."  In  all  of 
these  instances,  moreover,  there  must  have  been  much  comic  "  busi- 
ness" furnished  by  the  actors  to  remind  us  that  the  captor  is  a 
coward.^  It  is  unthinkable  that  Pistol  with  his  Frenchman  should 
have  been  no  fuimier  at  the  Globe  than  he  is  in  the  text.' 

The  other  situation  is  that  of  the  soldier  who  keeps  his  appetite, 

1  It  matters  not  that  the  charge  was  given  in  Part  I  and  that  he  was  fetched  in 
Part  II.     The  situation  is  quite  the  same — on  the  eve  of  departure  to  the  war. 

2  Morgann  denies  that  Falstafl  roared  as  he  ran  away  because  there  is  no  stage 
direction,  though  the  roaring  is  remarlied  upon  by  both  Poins  and  the  Prince.  He 
might  have  supplied  it.  See  Creizenach.  Englische  ComBdianten,  p.  xcviii,  for  evidence, 
if  that  were  necessary,  that  stage  directions  as  we  have  them  are  very  incomplete.  So 
they  are  in  printed  plays  today,  and  vastly  they  diminish  in  quantity  as  we  go  back 
through  three  centuries.  At  this  point  we  should  recall  Viola  pitted  against  Aguecheeli 
as  we  have  seen  them  on  the  stage,  or  the  more  explicit  text  of  L' Avantureux  (1521). 
"lis  reculent  toujours  pour  prendre  du  champs  et  crient :  A  morti  amortl"  Ct.  Henry 
V,  II,  i,  Nym  and  Pistol.    Colville,  of  course,  is  no  coward,  but  is  comically  mistaken, 

'  The  more  general  situation  of  the  coward  fighting  the  coward,  or  a  woman,  is  com- 
mon with  the  type:  Falstaff  fights  Pistol  and  has  a  row  with  Quickly  and  her  constables; 
Roister  Doister  is  beaten  by  women;  Thersites  and  Ambidexter  fight  with  these  and  with 
snails  and  butterfiies;  and  Giangurgolo,  the  Calabrian,  gets  into  a  rage  with  poor  inoffen- 
sive people  and  fights  with  eunuchs  (Sand,  I,  202).     Cf.  Graf,  p.  35. 

215 


84  Elmer  Edgak  Stoll 

though  scared.  Another  contradiction,  though  to  the  ancients  and 
the  men  of  the  Renaissance  it  betokened  not  coolness  and  presence 
of  mind  but  a  base  and  besotted  nature,  dead  to  name  and  fame.^ 
Falstaff  sleeps  and  snores  while  the  watch  seek  for  him  and  has  his 
bottle  on  the  field,  just  as  Sosie,  after  he  has  run  and  hidden  in 
the  tent,  drinks  wine  and  eats  ham.^  And  the  putting  of  a  bottle 
in  his  case  for  a  pistol  is  a  stranger  contradiction  still.  According 
to  our  notions  a  coward  would  go  armed  to  the  teeth,^  but  earlier 
art  is  prone  to  ignore  analysis  and  present  character  in  an  outward 
and  typical  way.*  Time  and  again  in  Renaissance  drama  the  coward 
finds  his  sword  rusted  in,^  or,  drawing  it,  can  show  but  the  half  of  a 
blade,  or,  like  Basilisco,  a  painted  lath.  Capitano  had  a  spider's 
web  around  his  sheath,  and  Harlequin,  like  the  Greek  beardless 
satyr,^  Pulcinella,  at  times,'  and  the  English  Vice,  wore  as  the  symbol 
of  his  cowardice  a  wooden  sword,  not  out  of  keeping  with  the  rabbit 
scut'  in  his  hat.  M.  Jusserand  has  remarked  upon  the  use  of  signs 
and  symbols  in  mediaeval  drama  and  painting — God  on  the  stage  in 
the  habiliments  of  pope  or  bishop,  and  St.  Stephen  painted  with  a 
stone,  not  on  his  crown,  but  in  his  hand,  St.  Lawrence  toying  with 
his  gridiron,  or  Samson  being  shorn  in  the  lap  of  Delilah  with  the 
ass's  jawbone  still  in  his  hand!  Even  in  Goldoni's  Locandiera  the 
chicken-hearted  Marchese's  sword  is  rusted  in,  and  when  out  is  no 


1  In  "contempt  of  glory,"  says  Hazlitt  (ed.  1864,  p.  190),  determined,  as  always,  to 
make  him  superior  to  circumstances.  CI.  his  suggestion  that  FalstafE  may  have  put  the 
tavern-reckoning  in  his  pocket  "as  a  trick."  And  when  he  falls  asleep,  I  suppose,  he  is 
feigning  once  more.  On  the  contrary,  his  falling  asleep  may  be  no  more  than  a  device 
of  the  dramatist's  to  get  his  pocket  picked  without  his  knowing  it. 

2  Amphitryon,  I,  11.  In  PalstafE's  case  the  wine  may  be  there  to  bolster  him  up,  or 
only  to  cool  his  thirst  on  a  hot  day.     Cf.  Part  II,  1, 11,  235. 

a  Sometimes,  indeed,  the  Matamore  was  so  represented.  Cf.  Sand,  I,  197.  This 
later  realism  appears  in  L'  Avantureux,  and  in  Jodelet  DuelUste  when  the  coward  takes 
all  unfair  precautions  by  securing  the  most  formidable  weapons  and  wearing  concealed 
a  cuirass  and  a  steel  cap  (II,  vil).  Falstaff  himself  seems  to"  appreciate  the  uses  of  a 
sword  when  he  refuses  to  lend  his  to  Hal,  though  this,  again,  may  be  no  more  than  a 
device  of  the  dramatist's  to  introduce  the  practical  joke  of  the  pistol. 

'  Cf.  the  delight  in  discordant  soimds  attributed  to  the  Malcontents  Malevole  and 
Jaques. 

'  T.  Jordan,  Pictures  of  Passions  (1641),  A  Plundering  Coward:  "A  heavylron  sword, 
which  fondly  grows  to  the  klnde  scabbard."  Cf.  Mlddleton's  Witch,  v.  1.  The  coward 
Aberganes  cannot  draw,  and  does  "not  care  to  see  it — 'tis  only  a  hohday  thing  to  wear  at 
a  man's  side." 

^  Qrande  Encyclopaedic,  s.c.  "Arlequin." 

'  Sand,  I,  132.  '  Sand,  I,  68. 

216 


^0 


^  Falstaff  85 

more  than  a  stump;  and  in  this  case,  as  in  the  others,  the  point  is 
not  that  the  character  is  afraid  of  cold  steel,  or  "naked  weapons," 
but  that  his  martial  profession  is  a  burlesque  and  fraud.  In  the 
miles  it  is  a  touch  in  sympathy  and  keeping  with  the  whole  ex- 
travagant and  external  scheme. 

\v  Further  consideration  of  Falstaff 's  cowardice  depends  on  the 
"incomprehensible  lies"  of  the  buckram  story  and  the  problems 
which  they  involve.  By  most  English  critics  they  are  thought  to  be 
no  lies  but  mere  "waggery"  to  amuse  himself  or  the  Prince;^  by  some 
Germans  they  are  considered  to  be  a  case  of  unconscious  exaggera- 
tion.^ No  one,  so  far  as  I  know,'  has  suggested  that  Falstaff  under- 
takes to  deceive,  and  yet  without  intending  a  jest  falls  into  the 
preposterous  exaggerations  and  contradictions  of  a  sailor  or  fisher- 
man spiiming  a  yarn.  Still  a  scamp,  he  is  no  longer  a  wit.  As  for 
the  intention  to  deceive,  that  in  the  light  of  what  we  have  already 
said  about  the  Elizabethan  practical  joke  should,  to  any  student  of 
the  period,  be  apparent.  Poins's  prediction  is  fulfilled  to  the  letter — 
"how  thirty  at  least  he  fought  with;  what  wards,  what  blows,  what 
extremities  he  endured" — and  is  further  confirmed  by  the  purposed 
fraud  of  his  "monstrous  devices."  And  as  for  the  unconscious 
exaggerations  and  contradictions,  he  is  like  the  Playboy  of  the 
Western  World,  who  at  first  says  that  he  riz  the  loy  and  let  fall  the 
edge  on  his  father's  skull;  later  says  that  he  halved  his  skull;  then 
that  he  split  him  to  the  knob  of  his  gullet;  then  that  with  one  blow 
he  cleft  him  to  the  breeches  belt.*  Only,  in  Christy  Mahon's  case, 
the  intervals  between  these  exaggerations  are  so  wide,  the  motivation 
provided  in  them  by  the  admiration  of  his  hearers  and  his  own 
waxing  enthusiasm  so  subtle  and  complete,  that  his  reputation  for 

'  Morgaun,  Hazlitt,  Lloyd,  Maginn,  Wetz  (p.  406) ,  Bradley  (p.  264) ,  Professor 
Matthews  (p.  129),  though  it  does  not  seem  like  him. 

'  Wolff,  I,  426;  but  like  most  ot  the  Germans  he  refuses  to  entertain  the  notion  that 
Falstaff  also  meant  to  deceive.  BiUthaupt  (II,  72-73),  troubled  with  the  inconsistency 
of  the  character,  seems  to  take  the  middle  course  of  having  Falstaff  half  in  earnest,  half 
in  jest. 

!  Gervinus  (Lon.,  1863,  i,  pp.  452,  453)  and  Wolff  (I,  425)  seem  to  approach  it,  but 
probably  mean  no  more  than  "witty  myself  and  the  cause  that  wit  is  in  other  men" 
(Part  II,  I,  ii,  11).  And  by  that  Falstaff  means  only  that  he  furnishes  others  matter 
for  mirth  by  his  personal  appearance. 

<  Such  a  comparison  is  not  illegitimate.  Synge  abounds  in  old  farcical  material, 
dating  back  to  the  fabliaux,  though,  as  here,  treated  with  modern  delicacy. 

217 


86  Elmer  Edgab  Stoll 

intelligence  hardly  suffers.  Falstaff  piles  up  his  exaggerations  pell- 
mell,  despite  the  interrupting  jeers  of  the  Prince  and  Poins,  and 
turns  at  once  from  wit  to  butt. 

Here  lies  an  incongruity'  greater  than  any  we  have  met,  and  to 
understand  it  we  must  look  about  us,  as  the  commentator  does  when 
he  is  puzzled  by  a  phrase  of  the  text  in  contemporary  drama.  The 
situation  is  the  same  as  that  in  Heywood's  Fair  Maid  cited  above. 
The  only  difference  is  that  between  great  art  and  small;  for  in  the 
same  period  a  great  popular  artist  and  a  mediocre  one  use  the  same 
means  of  expression — "business,"  situations,  and  types.  That  is  to 
say,  the  difference  is  in  the  touch.  In  both  cases  before  us  there  is  the 
cowardly  action  deliberately  misrepresented  in  the  report  by  means 
of  gross  exaggerations  and  contradictions,^  satirically  noticed  by  the 
hearer  but  without  effect  upon  the  speaker.  Roughman  is  not  witty, 
to  be  sure,  nor,  once  started,  does  he  let  his  numbers  grow.  But, 
like  Falstaff  not  a  fool,  he  too  makes  a  fool  of  himself  with  his  story. 

That  Falstaff  the  wit  should  thus  turn  into  a  butt  involves  a 
lack  of  unity  and  consistency  in  the  portrayal  which  in  higher  art 
is  nowadays  impossible  but  was  then  not  rare.  He  was  the  comic 
character — men  asked  no  more.  Contradictions  enough  we  have 
foxmd  already  in  the  miles.  According  to  Reich,'  moreover,  the 
Hindoo  Vidusaka,  the  Roman  scurra,  and  the  Greek  yiKuroiroibs 
were  often  not  only  wits  who  jested  at  others'  and  their  own  expense, 
but  like  the  court  fool  were  the  butts  of  others'  jokes,  practical  and 
verbal.  And  the  same  may  be  said  of  the  Elizabethan  stage  fools 
and  clowns.*  With  some  of  his  Shakespeare  goes  as  far  as  with 
Falstaff,  though  turning  the  character  not  so  much  into  a  butt  as 
into  a  buffoon. 

Launce,  for  instance,  is  quick  and  expert  at  jest  and  repartee, 
punning  and  word-splitting,  gets  the  better  of  Speed  and  others  who 

>  Bulthaupt  has  felt  it,  and  stated  It  more  clearly  and  fully  than  anyone  else,  but  he 
undertakes  no  explanation. — Dramaturgie,  II,  72-73. 

2  Morgann  (p.  138)  makes  much  of  the  circumstance  that  Falstafl's  braggadocios 
are  after  the  fact,  not  before  it.  But  this  is  the  case  with  a  number  of  cowards.  Ruz- 
zante  in  Beolco's  First  Dialogue,  getting  up  from  the  ground,  brags  about  what  he  would 
have  done  if  his  rival  had  been  there  alone  instead  of  "one  of  a  hundred":  Swash,  in 
Day's  Blind  Beggar  of  Bednall  Green,  echoing  Falstaff,  declares,  "I  very  manfully  killed 
seven  of  the  six,"  though  the  rest  carried  away  the  money;  Robin  in  Adam  de  la  Halle's 
Jeu  de  Robin  et  Marion;   Protaldy  in  Thierry  and  Theodoret,  II,  Iv. 

«  Mimus,  pp.  24,  736,  866,  etc.  « Eckhardt,  p.  255. 

218 


Falstaff  87 

are  pitted  against  him,  and  sees  through  his  master's  perfidy  when 
others  fail.  Yet  at  times  he  confounds*  words  in  the  style  of  Mala- 
prop  and  Partington,  "misplaces"  and  talks  contradictory  nonsense 
like  the  Shakespearean  constables,^  craftily  withholds  information 
one  moment  and  unconsciously  blabs  it  out  the  next,'  and,  like  Sosie,^ 
when  he  undertakes  to  tell  of  his  parting  with  dramatic  directness 
and  exactitude  gets  his  tale  hopelessly  tangled  and  muddled. 
Similarly  in  Measure  for  Measure  Pompey  Bum  has  to  his  credit 
some  of  the  shrewdest  sayings  in  the  play,'  and  yet  confuses  words 
like  respect  and  suspect,  suppose  and  depose,  instant  and  distant, 
and,  like  Dogberry,  wanders  and  flounders  in  his  story  of  Mistress 
Elbow  and  Master  Froth  without  the  wit  to  suspect  it.  "Why 
very  well,"  he  cries  delighted,  "I  hope  here  be  truths!"  These 
and  other  clowns  Professor  Eckhardt,  also  bent  upon  unity,  has 
been  under  the  necessity  of  interpreting  as  stupid  intentionally, 
laughing,  like  the  canonical  Falstaff,  in  their  sleeves.^  Of  this  there 
are  instances,  no  doubt;  but  on  the  Elizabethan  stage,  as  we  have 
seen,  feigning  is,  as  it  begins,  explicitly  indicated,  or  else  is  manifest 
from  the  situation  and  the  sudden  change  of  tone;  and  without 
such  warrant  it  seems  iinscientific  to  have  recourse  to  this  method 
of  obviating  a  contradiction  or  harmonizing  a  discord.''  As  Professor 
Eckhardt  himself  has  remarked  and  perhaps  everybody  has  noticed, 
in  many  Elizabethan  plays  all  the  comic  characters  are  witty,  and  of 
those  classes  into  which  Professor  Eckhardt  has  ranged  all  the  pro- 
fessional clowns  and  jesters  of  Elizabethan  drama,  by  far  the  largest 
are  those  who  are  only  "prevailingly"  wits  and  jesters  and  those  who 
are  only  "prevailingly"  clowns  and  dolts.  As  in  Harlequin*  and 
the  "  patch  "  in  the  circus-ring,  wit  mixed  with  stupidity  is  the  quicker 
to  tickle  the  public  taste.  Nor  does  the  one  blend  with  or  leaven 
the  other.     Launce  and  Pompey  are  both  wits  and  clowns. 

1  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona,  II,  iii,  4,  etc. 

'  II,  iii,  11  and  13  (cf.  Meaeure  for  Measure,  II,  i,  90).  Ct.  Elbow,  Dogberry,  Verges, 
DuU. 

» III,  i,  265.  *  Amphitryon,  I,  i. 

«I,  il;   II.  i,  234  ff. 

•  Eckhardt,  pp.  255,  411.  From  this  exhaustive  worlj  most  of  the  facts  used  In  this 
paragraph  are  derived. 

'  Cf.  below,  another  instance — and  another  method — with  Polonius. 

»  "  Un  mSlange  d'ignorance,  de  naSvetS,  d'esprit,  de  bStise,  et  de  grace"  (Sand,  I,  76) . 

219 


88  Elmer  Edgar  Stoll 

Such  is  Falstaff;  nor  is  this  naivete  missing  at  other  times,  as 
in  his  remorse.  In  the  first  scene  in  which  he  appears  Falstaff 
falters  in  his  jollity  and  vows  that  he  will  give  over  this  life,  being 
now  little  better  than  one  of  the  wicked.  "Where  shall  we  take  a 
purse  tomorrow.  Jack?"  "Zounds!"  he  shouts,  "where  thou  wilt, 
lad ! "  On  a  blue  Monday  at  the  Boar's  Head  he  is  for  repenting  once 
more  as  he  moodily  contemplates  his  wasting  figure.  Bardolph  com- 
plains of  his  fretfulness.  "Why,  there  is  it.  Come  sing  me  a  bawdy 
song;  make  me  merry!"  If  in  this  he  be  self-conscious,  how  annoy- 
ing and  unnatural !  Those  numerous  critics  who  to  keep  for  Falstaff 
his  reputation  as  a  humorist  have  him  here  play  a  part,  seem  to  do 
so  at  the  expense  of  their  own.  It  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  in  Hegel 
and  some  few  German  critics'  that,  with  philosophy  in  their  every 
thought,  they  should  shake  their  heads  at  the  unenlightenment  of 
Aristophanes,  and  turning  their  backs  on  Shakespeare,  Cervantes, 
and  Moliere  should  proclaim  the  highest  species  of  humor  to  be  inten- 
tional and  conscious;  but  it  is  to  be  wondered  at  in  Englishmen. 
What  joke  could  be  made  of  this  equal  to  the  unconscious  comical 
effect  of  the  old  sensualist  plunged  in  penitence,  and  spontaneously 
buoyed  up  again,  as  by  a  specific  levity?  "Peace,  good  Doll" — 
and  here,  too,  he  is  not  jesting  but  saying  it  with  a  shudder — "do 
not  speak  like  a  death's  head;  do  not  bid  me  remember  mine  end." 
The  pith  of  the  humor  lies  in  the  huge  appetite  for  purses,  or  mirth, 
bursting  in  an  instant  the  bonds  of  his  penitence;  just  as  it  lies  in 
his  thirst  swallowing  up  the  memory  that  his  lips  are  not  yet  dry. 
"Give  me  a  cup  of  sack!  I  am  a  rogue  if  I  drunk  to-day!"-  He  is 
as  unconscious  as  inconsistency  has  been  on  the  comic  stage  ever 
since — as  Moliere's  philosopher  who  declaims  against  wrath  and 
presently  gives  way  to  it,  or  the  duennas  of  Steele  and  Sheridan, 
who  deprecate  love  and  marriage  for  their  nieces  at  the  moment 
when  they  seek  it  for  themselves. 

Naive,  then,  as  well  as  witty,  and  quite  as  much  the  cause  of  mirth 
in  other  men  when  he  is  least  aware,  Falstaff  is  less  "  incomprehen- 

1  Ulrici,  etc..  but  not  Gsrvlnus;  cf.  Wetz,  pp.  402-3;  Hegel  (cited  by  Wetz),  AMetik. 
Ill,  576. 

'Such  instances  Wetz  (p.  406).  under  the  influence  of  Lloyd,  considers  intentional 
jokes,  despite  his  insistence  on  Palstafl's  naUetc.  Bradley  and  other  English  critics 
agree. 

220 


Falstaff  89 

sible"  both  in  his  lies  and,  as  we  shall  presently  see,  in  his  conduct 
generally.  His  wit  is  expended,  not  in  making  himself  ridiculous  for 
the  sake  of  a  joke  unshared  and  unuttered,  but,  by  hook  or  by  crook, 
in  avoiding  that.  Dryden  long  ago  remarked  as  his  special  accom- 
plishments his  shifts  and  quick  evasions;  and  Jonson,  his  "easy  scapes 
and  sallies  of  levity."  "His  wit  lies  in  those  things  he  says  praeter 
expedatum,  unexpected  by  the  audience;  his  quick  evasions  when  you 
imagine  him  surprised,  which,  as  they  are  extremely  diverting  of  them- 
selves, so  receive  a  great  addition  from  his  person."'  Morgann,  Lloyd,'' 
Maginn,'  and  even  Mr.  Bradley^  find  this  all  too  simple,  and,  wrench- 
ing both  plot^  and  character  in  the  process,  have  him  lie  in  no  expec- 
tation of  being  believed,  step  into  traps  for  the  fun  of  wriggling  out, 
and  bid  for  gibes  at  his  own  expense.  Losing  is  as  good  as  winning, 
and  Falstaff  is  out  for  exercise  and  his  health !  But  from  Aristoph- 
anes and  Plautus  down  through  the  Renaissance  to  the  present- 
day  Eloquent  Dempsey  of  Mr.  William  Boyle  there  is  a  continual 
succession  of  characters  who  are  well  content  to  use  their  wits  as 
they  may  to  keep  from  smarting  for  their  follies.  Particularly  is  this 
the  case  with  cowards  and  braggarts,  with  Panurge,^  Capitano  Spa- 
vento,  and  the  various  Elizabethan  specimens  of  the  Captain — 

1  Dramatic  Poesy,  p.  43, 

t  Essays  (1875),  p,  223;  as  when  he  says  "When  thou  wilt,  lad,"  etc.,  or  "I'm  a 
rogue,"  etc. 

'  P.  51 :  "It  was  no  matter  whether  he  invented  what  tended  to  laughter  or  whether 
it  was  invented  upon  him."     It  is  true  that  he  is  not  resentful  or  sulky,  but  what  clown  is  ? 

*  Oxford  Lectures,  pp.  264-65.  In  treating  Falstaff's  mendacity  Mr.  Bradley  fails 
to  observe  distinctions  which,  as  it  seems  to  me,  are  required  by  the  exigencies  of  dramatic 
teclmique  and  wiiich  then  would  have  been  observed  by  an  audience  instinctively. 
Falstatl's  braggadocios  and  his  vowing  himself  a  rogue  if  he  had  drunk  today,  are,  though 
lies,  very  diflerent  in  spirit  and  purpose  from  the  shifts  and  evasions  by  which,  like  Aris- 
totle bslow,  he  turns  all  to  merriment  and  half  saves  the  day.  Still  another  sort  of  lie 
is  that  which  serves  no  practical  purpose — -offends  no  idealistic  scruples — his  jest  about 
his  corpulence  being  due  to  sighing  and  grief  and  his  voice  being  cracked  by  singing  of 
anthems.  But  Mr.  Bradley  rhetorically  asks  those  who  think  that  Falstaff  expected 
to  be  believed  in  his  buckram  story  whether  he  expected  to  be  believed  in  these  other 
cases  as  well.  To  make  Falstaff,  if  a  whole-hearted  liar  in  one  case,  a  whole-hearted 
liar  in  all,  is  like  making  lago  a  liar  even  in  soUloquy. 

"I  suppose  they  consider  that  Falstaff  was  in  earnest,"  he  continues,  "when,  want- 
ing to  get  twenty-two  yards  of  satin  on  trust,  he  offered  Bardolph  as  security."  That 
is  not  a  lie  at  all — is  a  case  in  no  sense  parallel  to  the  others;  but  certainly  he  was  as 
much  in  earnest  as  when  he  cheated  Quickly  and  Shallow.  He  afterward  makes  it  plain 
that  he  had  expected  to  get  the  satin  (Part  II,  I,  ii,  48-50).  "  Or  even  when  he  sold  his 
soul  on  Good  Friday  to  the  devil  for  a  cup  of  Madeira  and  a  cold  capon's  leg."  And 
that  Falstaff  never  says,  but  the  jeering  and  jesting  Poins. 

'  See  below,  p.  90. 

'  Book  IV,  chap.  67,  where  he  blames  for  his  condition  the  famous  cat  Rodilardus. 

221 


90  Elmer  Edgar  Stoll 

ParoUes,^  Bobadill,  Bessus,  Braggadino,  and  Sir  Tophas.  After 
saving  their  bacon  their  dearest  desire  is  to  save  their  face.  Even 
those  romancing  liars  whose  cowardice  is  not  in  grain,  Peer  Gynt 
and  Christy  Mahon,  are  far  from  courting  failure  and  discredit. 
y^  Some  of  the  most  famous  of  Falstaff's  shifts  are  in  other  plays 
actually  duplicated.  In  Look  about  You,  printed  in  1600,  Faucon- 
bridge,  having  in  ignorance  of  her  presence  spoken  slightingly  of 
his  wife,  avails  himself  of  the  evasion  to  which,  when  it  is  suggested, 
Falstaff  scorns  to  resort  for  a  second  time,  having  still  another  at 

hand: 

/  knew  thee,  Moll;  now  by  my  sword  I  knew  thee; 
I  winked  at  all;  I  laughed  at  every  jest. — Sc.  28. 

And  like  Falstaff  he  is  laughed  at  for  it  more  than  his  jest.  In 
Middleton's  Family  of  Love  it  is  the  woman  that  is  caught,  and 
she  knew  thee  as  well  as  the  child  knows  his  own  father — "I 
knew  him  to  be  my  husband  even  by  very  instinct."  So  in  Cicog- 
nini's  Don  Juan,  Passarino,  still  more  cowardly  than  his  equivalent 
Leporello  or  Sganarelle,  when  surprised  in  a  soliloquy  far  from  loyal 
to  his  master,  cries  in  panic,  "Faith,  I  saw  you  coming  and  I  was 
only  joking."^  Beaumont's  Bessus,  again,  when  taken  to  task 
declares  that  "Bessus  the  coward  wronged  you,  and  shall  Bessus 
the  valiant  maintain  what  Bessus  the  coward  did?"  And  to  a 
man  who  beats  him  he  confesses  that  he  "shall  think  him  a  valiant 
fellow  for  all  this."     For  the  three  English  sayings  this  is  the  model: 

Why  thou  knowest  I  am  as  valiant  as  Hercules;  but  beware  instinct; 
the  lion  will  not  touch  the  true  prince.  Instinct  is  a  great  matter;  I  was 
now  a  coward  on  instinct.  I  shall  think  the  better  of  myself  and  thee 
during  my  life:   I  for  a  vaUant  lion,  and  thou  for  a  true  prince. 

Thus  before  or  after  him,  some  of  Falstaff's  shifts,  like  his  "monstrous 
devices"  and  his  lazzi  on  the  battlefield,  were  the  recognized  prop- 
erty of  a  double-dealer  and  poltroon. 

If  Falstaff  steps  into  the  trap  on  purpose  and  is,  as  Mr.  Bradley 
says,  aware  that  his  slanders  upon  the  Prince  will  be  repeated  to  him, 
and,  as  most  Englishmen  say,  went  to  Gadshill  only  for  a  lark,  and, 
as  Lloyd  and  Maginn  suspect,  actually  knew  the  Prince  and  Poins, 

'  All's  Well,  I,  i,  215,  and  see  above. 

'  II  Convitato  di  Pietra,  sc.  28:   "A  v'haveva  vist  alia  {6,  e  per  quest  a  burlava  cosi." 

222 


Falstaff  91 

ran  and  roared  to  hold  the  good  jest  up,  and  hacked  his  sword  and 
bloodied  his  own  and  his  companions'  clothing  on  the  certain  calcu- 
lation that  he  should  be  betrayed/  little  enough  would  depend 
on  his  evasions.  Actually,  as  with  all  stage  cowards,  here  lies  the 
center  of  interest.^    The  Prince  and  Poins  press  him  hard: 

Prince:  What  trick,  what  device,  what  starting-hole  canst  thou  now 
find  out  to  hide  thee  from  this  open  and  apparent  shame  ? 

Poins:  Come,  let's  hear.  Jack;  what  trick  hast  thou  now? — Part  I, 
II,  iv,  293. 

Prince:  I  shall  drive  you  to  confess  the  wilful  abuse,  and  then  I  know 
how  to  handle  you. 

Poins:    Answer,  thou  dead  elm,  answer. — Part  II,  II,  iv,  338. 

At  times  his  embarrassment  is  as  manifest  as  their  glee,  and  he 
turns  from  bluster  to  coaxing  and  wheedling: 

Falstaff:    No  abuse,  Hal. 
Poins:    No  abuse  ? 

FaL:  No  abuse,  Ned,  i'  the  world;  honest  Ned,  none.' — Part  II,  II, 
iv,  290-94. 

In  his  wit  lies  the  only  difference  between  his  evasions  and  those 
of  Bessus,  Bobadill,  or  Jodelet.  Theirs,  comical  often  without  humor 
like  those  of  Bacchus  and  Xanthias  in  the  Frogs,  are  mere  excuses 
and  do  not  save  them;*  Falstaff 's  are  as  unplausible  and  far-fetched 
as  theirs,  but,  as  Poins  forbodes,  they  deliberately  "drive  the  Prince 
out  of  his  revenge  and  turn  all  to  a  merriment."  They  are  laughed 
at,  but  often  they  turn  the  laugh.  They  are  jests  for  profit,  as  Burck- 
hardt^  would  no  doubt  have  called  them,  for  profit  and  delight,  and 
little  akin  to  that  pale  species  reared  by  philosophy  and  philanthropy, 
which  craves  no  hearing  but,  like  virtue,  is  its  own  reward.  They  are 
such  jests  as  those  of  Shakespeare's  clowns  or  fools  when  they  beg  or 
are  threatened,  those  of  Sancho  Panza  and  Panurge,  Eulenspiegel  and 

'  Quoted  freely  from  Lloyd,  p.  224;  Maginn,  pp.  47,  51. 

'  As  for  the  Capitano,  see  Herman  Grimm,  Essays  (1859),  p.  165;  for  other  braggart 
cowards  see  Petit  de  JuUeville,  Histoire  du  Thcdtre:   La  Comedie,  p.  258. 

« Cf.  a  similar  passage.  Part  I,  II,  iv,  260-64. 

*  Every  Man  in  His  Humour^  IV,  V,  "Sure.  I  was  Struck  with  a  planet  thence"; 
IV,  vii,  "I  was  fascinated,  by  Jupiter"  (so  Ruzzante  suffers  from  enchantment);  A 
King  and  No  King,  III,  11;  Jodelet  Mattre-Valet,  IV,  vii,  "Quell  c'est  votre  ueveu? 
Je  ne  me  bats  pas!"  etc. 

6  Civilisation  of  the  Renaissance  in  Italy  (1890),  p.  157. 

223 


92  Elmeh  Edgar  Stoll 

Kalenberg,  or  those  in  the  old  fabliaux.  In  one  of  these  last,  indeed, 
the  celebrated  Lai  d'Aristote  of  d'Andeli,  there  is  an  evasion,  remark- 
ably like  some  of  Falstaff's,  of  which  the  purpose  and  effect  are 
specifically  indicated.  We  remember:  "Thou  knowest  that  in  the 
state  of  innocency  Adam  fell;  and  what  should  poor  Jack  Falstaff  do 
in  the  days  of  villainy  ?  Thou  seest  I  have  more  flesh  than  another 
man,"  etc.  Again  we  remember :  "  I  dispraised  him  before  the  wicked 
that  the  wicked  might  not  fall  in  love  with  him;  in  which  doing,  I 
have  done  the  part  of  a  careful  friend  and  a  true  subject,"  etc.  In 
the  same  spirit  Aristotle  when,  having  rebuked  Alexander  for  giving 
way  to  carnal  pleasures,  he  is  discovered  as  he  goes  bridled  and  sad- 
dled and  ridden  by  the  vindictive  damsel  through  the  garden,  cries 
to  his  jeering  sovereign: 

Sire,  fait-il,  vos  dites  voir! 
Mais  or  po6s  vos  bien  savoir: 
J'oi  droit  que  je  doutai  de  vos. 
Car  en  fin  j  event  ardfe  tos 
Et  en  fu  droite  jouenece, 
Quant  jo  qui  sui  plains  de  vieUece 
Ne  puis  centre  amor  rendre  estal 
Qu'ele  ne  m'ait  tom6  a  mal 
Li  grant  com  vos  av6s  v6u. 
Quant  que  j'ai  apris  et  16u 
M'a  desfait  nature  en  i  eure 
Qui  tote  science  deveure 
Pus  qu'ele  s'en  veut  entremetre; 
Et  se  jo  voil  dont  paine  metre 
A  vos  oster  de  sa  prison,  .... 

So  he  too  turns  all  to  merriment.  Alexander  congratulates  the 
damsel  on  the  revenge  she  had  furnished  them,  but 

tant  s'en  fu  bien  escusfe 
De  ce  que  il  fu  amuses 
Qu'en  riant  li  rois  h  pardonne. 

So  Falstaff  seeks  neither  to  "amuse  the  Prince"  nor  to  excuse  him- 
self, but  does  both  together  as  the  better  way  of  reaching  either  end. 
All  this  reasoning  is  founded,  I  hope,  on  what  is  simple  and 
sensuous,  and  therefore  truly  of  the  stage.  The  fatal  objection  to 
the  theory  that  Falstaff  is  feigning  and  literally  "looking  for  trouble" 

221 


Falstaff  93 

is  that  he  keeps  his  joke  to  himself.  There  are  no  such  jokes  on  the 
stage.  At  least  it  must  have  got  into  a  soliloquy — ^in  Shakespeare's 
time  it  must  needs  have  been  thrust  upon  the  notice  of  the  Prince 
and  Poins  and  have  covered  them  with  confusion.  In  Shakespeare 
the  battle  is  to  the  strong,  success  never  looks  like  failure,  or  honor 
like  dishonor,  and  for  him  and  his  audience  it  is  not  a  humorous 
thing  to  keep  one's  humor  hid.  Perhaps  there  was  never  a  more 
amazing  transformation  in  the  history  of  criticism  than  this  of 
our  fat  knight  into  a  sort  of  Andrea  del  Sarto, — 

I,  jesting  from  myself  and  to  myself, 

Know  what  I  do — am  not  moved  by  men's  blame 

Or  their  praise  either. 

Now  this  principle  of  a  looser  unity,  wjiieh-is-ihejuaiiL thread  we 
have  been  tracing — of  identity  in  the^dramatic  functioii  and  tone, 
rather  than  in  mental  quality  and  pnK;ess5g=^^expIains  much  else  in 
Falstaff.  The  quickness  and  readiness  with  which  he  faces  about, 
which  prompts  Bulthaupt  to  think  that  in  his  boasting  he  is  not 
sincere,  is  due  simply  to  the  fact  that  here  he  is  wit  again,  not 
buffoon.  It  is  required  of  him  to  be  entertaining  rather  than 
plausible.  And  this  explains  his  so-called  presence  of  mind,  his 
joking  amid  carnage  and  in  the  teeth  of  death.  It  is  not  that  he 
is  a  Mercutio,  game  to  the  last,  but  that  he  jokes  regardless  of  psycho- 
logical propriety,  as  Elizabethan  clowns  do  whether  in  battle  or  in 
the  house  of  mourning,  or  as  Sosia  does,  trembling  before  Mercury,^ 
or  the  gracioso  Guarin  does,  in  Calderon's  Puente  de  Mantible,^ 
though  much  frightened,  with  the  giant,  or  the  cowardly  Polidoro, 
in  El  Mayor  Monstruo,  though  threatened  with  immediate  hanging. 

Looser  unity,  moreover,  irrelevancy,  or  carelessness  of  detail — 
it  matters  not  which,  for  probably  Shakespeare  seldom  conceived 
his  characters  apart  from  the  plot — explains  quite  as  well  as  the 
tradition  of  the  miles  the  fact  that  in  other  ways  Falstaff  ceases  for 
moments  to  be  a  coward.  His  fighting  with  Pistol,  from  which  Mr. 
Bradley  says  a  stock  coward  would  have  shrunk,  and  his  capturing 
Colville  and  exchanging  a  blow  or  two  with  Hal  and  Poins  on  Gads- 
hill  are  like  the  conduct  of  the  gracioso  Brito  in  Calderon's  Principe 

»  Amphitryon  of  Plautus  and  oX  Moliere,  sc.  1.  =  II,  x  and  xi. 

225 


94  Elmer  Edgar  Stoll 

Constante,^  who,  after  falling  and  feigning  death  like  FalstafT,  starts 
up  and  secures  a  fresh  comic  effect  by  chasing  off  the  stage  the  two 
Moors  who  come  to  rob  his  body;  or  of  Ambidexter,  in  Cambyses, 
who  beats  Huf,  Ruf,  and  Snuf  before  he  himself  is  beaten  by  the 
women;  or  of  Sganarelle,  who,  after  his  pigeon-livered  soliloquy 
cited  below,  appears,  crying  out  upon  his  enemy,  in  full  armor — to 
keep  off  the  rain!  or  of  Panurge  and  Cingar,  who,  though  cowards, 
having  many  vices  besides,  exhibit  them,  as  Falstaff  does  his  thievish- 
ness  and  his  bibulousness  on  the  battlefield,  as  if  their  cowardice 
were  quite  forgotten.  Though  "of  blows  he  was  naturally  fearful," 
in  the  campaign  against  the  Dipsodes  Panurge  is  as  bold  as  brass  and 
as  cool  as  a  cucumber.^  And  Pulcinella,  we  have  seen,  is  both 
Idche  and  feroce. 

Elsewhere  as  well  Shakespeare  does  not  keep  strictly  to  his 
scheme.  Shylock  is  conceived  in  prejudice,  doomed  to  ridicule  and 
dishonor,  yet  is  given  now  and  then  a  touch  of  incompatible  tender- 
ness.' Polonius  is  sensible  enough  at  first,  yet  in  the  second  act  he 
is  indeed  an  "ass."^  And  as  for  the  "indecorum"  of  Falstaff's 
presence  unabashed  and  unreproved  before  the  King  at  Shrewsbury, 
of  which  Morgann  and  his  followers  complain  (unless  indeed  it  be 
granted  them  as  an  intentional  compliment  to  his  valor,  or  evidence 
of  his  being  an  established  courtier  and  "counsellor  of  state"),* 
why  in  Elizabethan  drama  are  fools'  and  clowns  forever  elbowing 
kings  or  emperors  without  a  ghost  of  a  pretext  or  excuse  ?  To 
jest,  and  Falstaff  jests.  "Peace,  chewet,  peace!"  cries  the  Prince 
to  our  "counsellor"  once  really,  according  to  Elizabethan  notions, 

1 1,  xlv  and  xx. 

'  In  Book  II,  chaps.  27,  29,  he  gives  a  cry  of  pleasure  at  the  approaching  conflict, 
and  he  creeps  among  the  fallen  and  cuts  their  throats.  Yet  see  at  the  close  of  chap.  21 
his  fright  when  blows  are  threatened;  (IV,  chap.  5)  when  Dingdong  draws  his  sword; 
(IV,  chaps.  19,  23,  24)  when  there  is  a  storm  at  sea;  (chaps.  66,  67)  when  there  is  can- 
nonading. 

'See  my  article  "Shylock"  (cited  above),  p.  276. 

*  See  Mr.  A.  B.  Walkley,  op.  cit.  Urged  by  the  craving  for  unity,  as  usual,  critics 
have  found  the  wisdom  of  Polonius  in  I,  iii,  jejune  and  insipid.  So  is  the  Duke's,  then, 
in  Measure  for  Measure,  III,  i,  and  that  of  many  another  moralist  in  Shakespeare.  And 
even  if  jejune  and  insipid,  "hard  and  unvital,"  it  is  not  silly,  not  asinine,  and  the  char- 
acter is  not  much  more  of  a  unit  than  before.  Coleridge,  urged  by  the  same  craving, 
finds  him  too  wise  to  be  meant  for  a  comic  character! 

« Morgann,  pp.  43-44. 

« In  this  case,  of  course,  there  is  often  the  reason  that  they  belong  to  the  household. 

226 


Falstaff  95 

the  decorum  is  broken.  About  as  much  is  to  be  made  of  Falstaff's 
presence  in  the  council  as  of  his  "familiarity"  with  John  of  Gaunt 
and  Mowbray,  Duke  of  Norfolk.  Once  upon  a  time  he  joked  with 
the  one,  and  in  his  youth  he  was  page  to  the  other.  In  Elizabethan 
drama  anybody  jokes  with  a  king  and  a  king  jokes  with  anybody, 
and  Falstaff  wins  little  credit  with  us  for  once  having  tried  it  with 
John  of  Gaunt  in  the  Tiltyard.  What  does  it  matter,  moreover, 
whether,  as  Morgann  and  Magiim  will  have  it,  he  is  a  gentleman  ? 
So  is  Panurge,'  and  a  coward,  and  "a  very  dissolute  and  debauched 
fellow  if  there  were  any  in  Paris."  The  pith  and  root  of  the  matter 
is  that  criticism  has  no  right  thus  to  insist  upon  details  and  follow 
them  up  further — his  seal  ring  worth  forty  mark,  his  bonds,  and  his 
pension''  (if  ever  he  had  them)  as  tokens  of  respectability — for  in  the 
treatment  of  these  Shakespeare  and  his  fellows  were  even  more  self- 
contradictory  and  unplausible  than  we  have  already  seen  him  to  be  in 
matters  of  capital  importance.  Sancho  rides  his  stolen  ass  again 
before  he  has  recovered  her,  and  Comus,  as  he  welcomes  "midnight 
shout  and  revelry"  and  "the  secret  flames  of  midnight  torches,"  now 
finds  the  star  "that  bids  the  shepherd  fold"  at  the  top  of  heaven.' 
What  then  could  be  expected  of  one  who  was  not  writing  for  print  ? 
So  far  nothing  has  been  said  of  the  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor  because 
of  the  prevalent  opinion  that  this  Falstaff  is  another  man.  Here  he 
is  a  butt  and  no  mistake.  But  Mr.  Bradley  himself  says  that  there 
are  speeches  in  the  play  recognizable  as  Falstaff's  in  quantity  suffi- 
cient to  fill  one  side  of  a  sheet  of  note-paper.  Moreover,  the  figure 
of  the  braggart  captain  who  came  into  Shakespeare's  hands  from 
Plautus  or  from  the  Comedy  of  Masks  would  have  been  incomplete 
if  he  had  not  appeared  as  the  suitor  gulled.*  Yet  all  that  I  care  to 
insist  upon  is  that  in  this  play  as  in  Henry  IV  the  supreme  comical 
figure  is  again  both  butt  and  wit.  Again  for  purposes  of  mirth  he 
fails  to  see  through  the  tricks  played  upon  him,  and  yet,  though 

'  Book  II,  chap.  9:   "Natiire  hath  extracted  him  from  some  rich  and  noble  race." 

"  Morgann,  p.  59.  The  pension,  of  course,  he  is  only  expecting — or  says  he  is 
expecting. 

'  I  am  aware  that  "top"  has  been  made  to  mean  not  top  but  "fairly  high  up"  in 
the  heavens ;  which  shows  how  much  more  precious  in  the  eyes  of  a  commentator  is  con- 
sistency than  the  gift  of  expression.  There  is  no  meaning  to  the  phrase  unless  it  be  that 
time  has  passed  and  the  star  in  the  western  sky  is  now  higher  than  it  was. 

<  This  is  the  lot  of  both  Pyrgopolinices  and  the  Capitano. 

227     . 


96  Elmer  Edgab  Stoll 

he  is  clever  enough,  surely  nobody  will  have  him  feigning  and  dis- 
sembling, or  trying  to  "amuse"  himself  or  the  women  of  Windsor 
by  chivalrously  falling  in  with  their  vindictive  schemes. 

A  coward,  then,  if  ever  there  was  one,  has  Falstaff  a  philosophy  ? 
Military  freethinking  has  been  attributed  to  him  to  lift  the  stigma 
on  his  name.  Believing  not  in  honor,  he  is  not  bound  by  it.  And 
by  the  Germans*  and  Mr.  Bradley,  as  we  have  remarked,  the  scope 
of  his  philosophy  has  been  widened,  and  he  has  been  turned  into  a 
practical  Pyrrhonist  and  moral  nihilist,  to  whom  virtue  is  "a  fig," 
truth  absurd,  and  all  the  obligations  of  society  stumbling-blocks 
and  nuisances.  In  various  ways,  by  the  English  and  the  Germans 
alike,  he  has  been  thought  to  deny  and  destroy  all  moral  values 
and  ideals  of  life,  not  only  for  his  own  but  for  our  behoof.  So  in  a 
certain  sense  he  is  inspired  by  principle — of  an  anarchistic  sort — not 
void  of  it. 

Only  at  one  ideal — honor — does  Falstaff  seem  to  me  to  cavil, 
and  that  he  is  only  shirking  and  dodging.  How  does  he,  as  Mr. 
Bradley  thinks,  make  truth  absurd  by  lying;  or  law,  by  evading 
the  attacks  of  its  highest  representative;  or  patriotism,  by  abusing 
the  King's  press  and  filling  his  pockets  with  bribes  P  Or  matrimony 
(logic  would  not  forbear  to  add)  by  consorting  with  Mistresses  Ursula, 
Quickly,  and  Tearsheet,  thus  lifting  us  into  an  atmosphere  of  freedom 
indeed  ?  It  fairly  makes  your  head  turn  to  see  a  simple  picaresque 
narrative  like  that  of  Panurge  or  Sir  Toby  Belch  brought  to  such 
an  upshot  as  that. 

As  it  seems  to  me,  his  catechism  on  the  battlefield  and  his  deliver- 
ances on  honor'  are  to  be  taken  not  as  coming  from  his  heart  of  hearts 
but  from  his  wits  and  to  cover  his  shame. ^  Like  disreputable  char- 
acters in  mediaeval  and  Renaissance  drama  and  fiction  without 
number,  he  unconsciously  gives  himself  away.  His  "philosophy"  is 
but  a  shift  and  evasion,  and  in  his  catechism  he  eludes  the  claim  of 
honor  when  put  by  his  conscience  just  as  he  does  when  put  by  the 

■  In  various  degrees  by  Ulrici,  Gervinus,  Rotscher,  Vischer,  Graf,  and  Bulthaupt. 
The  only  one  who  explicitly  dissents  is  Wetz.  Wolfl  (I,  422),  though  he  finds  in  Falstaff 
no  depths  of  philosophy,  does  not  look  upon  the  ' '  catechism  "  as  a  confession  of  cowardice. 

2  Ox/ord  Lectures,  pp.  262-63. 

2  Part  I,  V,  i,  127-43;   iii,  61-65;   iv,  110-30. 

«  Cf.  Wetz. 

228 


Falstaff  97 

Prince  and  Poins.  When  he  declares  discretion  to  be  the  better 
part  of  valor  there  is  no  more  philosophy  in  him  than  in  Panurge 
and  the  Franc  Archier  de  Baignollet  when  they  avow  that  they  fear 
nothing  but  danger,  or  than  in  himself  when  he  swears  that  instinct 
is  a  great  matter,  and  purse-taking  no  sin  but  his  vocation.  When 
he  cries  "Give  me  life"  and  "I  like  not  the  grinning  honor  that  Sir 
Walter  hath,"  there  is  no  more  Pyrrhonism  or  Epicureanism  in  him 
than  there  is  idealism  when,  in  defending  his  choice  of  the  unlikeliest 
men  for  his  company,  he  cries,  "Give  me  the  spirit,  Master  Shallow," 
meaning,  "give  me  the  crowns  and  shillings,  Mouldy  and  BuUcalf." 
Here  as  there,  he  only  dodges  and  shuffles.  As  in  his  fits  of  remorse 
we  have  seen,  he  is  not  "dead  to  morality"  or  free  from  its  claims; 
neither  does  he  frankly  oppose  them,  or  succeed  in  "covering  them 
with  immortal  ridicule" ;  but  in  sophistry  he  takes  refuge  from  them 
and  the  ridicule  rebounds  on  his  own  head. 

Half  a  dozen  egregious  cowards  in  Shakespeare's  time,  at  any 
rate,  talk  in  Falstaff's  vein  when  in  danger,  and  yet  are  not,  and 
cannot  be,  thought  philosophers  for  their  pains.  The  coward  and 
braggart  Basilisco,  with  whom  Shakespeare  was  acquainted,  goes 
through  a  catechism  before  action,  too,  on  the  power  of  death  and 
the  futility  of  love  and  honor  in  the  face  of  it.'  What  is  at  the  back 
of  his  mind  a  child  could  see.  The  nearest  other  parallels  are  inde- 
pendent of  Shakespeare,  but  are  fashioned  by  the  same  ironical  and 
satiric  spirit.  In  Moliere's  Cocu  imaginaire,  Sganarelle  subtilizes 
on  death  and  a  husband's  honor  much  as  Falstaff  does  on  death  and 
a  soldier's  honor.     Discretion  is  his  pet  virtue  too. 

Je  ne  suis  point  battant,  de  peur  d'etre  battu, 
Et  I'humeur  d^bonnaire  est  ma  grands  vertu; 

and  if  in  this  faith  he  should  waver,  once  play  the  bold  fellow,  and 
get  for  his  virtue  a  villainous  thrust  in  the  paunch — 

Que  par  la  ville  ira  le  bruit  de  mon  tr6pas, 
Dites-moi,  mon  honaeur,  en  serez  vous  plus  gras  ? 

"Give  me  life,"  once  more,  not  grinning  honor— 

Qu'il  vaut  mieux  6tre  encor  cocu  que  tr^pass^; 

'  Soliman  and  Perseda,  V,  iii,  63-95.  The  parallel  being  well  known,  I  do  not  dwell 
on  it.     Shakespeare's  acquaintance  with  the  play  is  proved  by  King  John,  I,  i,  244. 

229 


98  Elmer  Edgar  Stoll 

and  therefore  he  considers  whether  loss  of  honor  can  damage  the 
limbs  as  Falstaff  considers  whether  the  winning  of  honor  will  mend 

them: 

Quel  mal  cela  fait-il?    la  jambe  en  devient-elle 
Plus  tortus,  apres  tout,  et  la  taille  moins  belle  ? 

Before  the  scene  is  over  he  confesses  his  cowardice  explicitly  and  in 
scene  xxi,  as  we  have  noticed,  it  becomes  apparent  in  deed. 

Another  arrant  coward,  also  self-confessed,  Jodelet  in  Scarron's 
Jodelet  Duelliste  (1646),'  inveighs  against  honor  as  a  silly  thing, 
causing  much  inconvenience,  and  considers  the  damage  done  because 
of  it  to  various  parts  of  the  body,  through  the  least  puncture  in  which 
the  spirit  may  escape — through  puncture  in  heart,  liver,  kidney, 
lungs,  or  an  artery — gods!  the  very  thought  takes  his  breath! 
And  he  "likes  not"  death  because  it  is  stupid,^  and  too  "forward" 
with  a  fellow, 

Et  sans  consid^rer  qui  la  veut  ou  refuse, 
L'indiscrfete  qu'elle  est,  grippe,  vouslt  ou  non, 
Pauvre,  riche,  poltron,  vaiUant,  mauvais  et  bon  (V,  i) . 

So  in  the  earlier  play,  Jodelet  Mattre-Valet,  when  he  considers: 

Que  le  corps  enfin  doit  pourrir, 

Le  corps  humain,  ou  la  prudence 

Et  I'homieur  font  leur  residence, 

Je  m  'afHige  jusqu'  au  mourir. 

Quoi!  cinq  doigts  mis  sur  une  face!  (IV,  ii). 

For,  as  in  the  later  play,  he  has  had  his  ears  boxed,  and  the  better 
part  is  discretion. 

Thus  continually  in  the  popular  farces  of  the  fifteenth  and  six- 
teenth centuries  cowardice  coquets  with  prudence,  discretion,  or  phil- 
anthropy, but  in  thrusting  back  the  claims  of  honor  only  betrays,  as 
in  Falstaff,  terror  at  what  comes  in  its  trail.  It  gives  itself  away 
by  an  irony  which  recoils  like  a  boomerang.  Falstaff's  discretion, 
Moron's  "bon  sens,"  ParoUes'  "for  advantage,"'  and  even  humaner 

1  Cited  in  Despois,  Uoliire,  t.  II,  198-200,  where  also  is  cited  the  parallel  of  Falstaff's 
catechism.  Cf .  also  M.  de  Pourceaugnac  (IH.  ii) ,  who  disclaims  the  fear  of  death  as  he 
flees  from  the  law  in  the  garb  of  a  woman,  but  thinks  it  "facheux  a  un  geutilhomme 
d'Stre  pendu." 

'"Camuse." 

>  All's  Well.  I.  ii,  215. 

230 


Falstaff  99 

sentiments  are  the  subterfuges  of  cowards  on  the  popular  stage  in 
Venice  and  Niirnberg  as  in  London  and  Paris.  In  the  old  farce 
L'Avantureux,  Guillot  has  fled  from  Marolles  but  retired  at  his  ease 
as  far  as — to  Pontoise! — for  a  soldier  who  is  quick  to  strike 

Se  doibt  bien  tenir  loin. 
Jamais  je  n'eus  intention 
De  faire  homicidation.^ 

Likewise  the  Franc  Archier  de  Baignollet  retreats  (for  to  him  as  to 
Sancho  retreating  is  not  fleeing)  only  a  trifle,  from  Angers  to  Lyons. 
And  Ruzzante  in  Beolco's  First  Dialogue  is  even  of  the  opinion, 
born  of  immediate  experience,  that  to  run  and  hide  takes  a  lot  of 
courage.*  Possibly  the  closest  parallel  to  Falstaff's  gammon  about 
honor  appears  in  a  fifteenth  century  Fastnachtspiel,  in  which  the 
faint-hearted  knights  excuse  themselves  from  following  the  Emperor 
into  battle.     The  Second  Knight  says: 

Scholt  ich  mich  da  geben  zu  sterben, 
Das  ich  da  mit  solt  er  erwerben, 
Was  mocht  mir  die  er  gefrumen 
Warm  ich  nit  mocht  her  wider  kumen  ? 
Wami  ich  hab  selbs  daheim  er  and  gut 
Und  ain  schons  weib,  das  gibt  mir  mut.' 

Somewhat  like  are  the  others,  and  the  Fourth  Knight  stipulates 
that  he  shall  be  permitted  to  ride  to  the  charge  behind  the  Emperor, 
because  to  ride  before  does  not  beseem  him,  and 

ich  will  eben  zu  sehen 
Von  wem  each  schaden  sei  geschehen. 

On  both  Emperor  and  Ausschreier  all  this  makes  but  one  impression 
— and  at  the  end  they  say  as  much — that  of  cowardice  unalloyed. 
Somewhat  the  same  are  the  sentiments  of  Panurge,  and  the  ironical 
method  is  more  obvious  in  him  than  in  any: 

Let's  whip  it  away,  I  never  find  myself  to  have  a  bit  of  Courage  at  Sea: 
In  Cellars  and  elsewhere  I  have  more  than  enough:  Let's  fly,  and  save  our 
Bacon.     I  do  not  say  this  for  any  Fear  that  I  have;   for  I  dread  nothing 

■  Ibid.,  U.  130-40.  The  same  sentiment  is  a  pretext  of  Ruzzante  (cited  below)  to 
explain  why  he  brings  no  booty  home  from  war. 

2  (Tenezia,  1565)  1.  5:  "le  un  gran  cuore  chi  se  mette  muzzare." 
'Keller  (1853),  No.  7S. 

231 


100  Elmer  Edgar  Stoll 

but  Danger,  that  I  don't:    I  always  say  it,  that  shouldn't We'll 

lose  no  Honour  by  flying;  Demosthenes  saith,  That  the  man  that  runs 
away  may  fight  another  time. — IV,  chap.  55  (cf.  chap.  23). 

All  these  cowardly  characters  have  a  burlesque  "philosophy" 
comparable  to  Falsta£f's,  which  in  their  case  cannot  extenuate  the 
shame  and  therefore  should  not  in  his.  Like  Falstaff  they  but 
make  of  it  a  veil  of  dissimulation,  and  drolly  peep  from  behind  it. 
Here  lingers  mediaeval  satire  as  we  find  it  in  capital  form  in  the 
Wife  of  Bath's  Prologue,  or  in  the  old  farce  of  the  widow  who  hears, 
as  the  bells  toll  for  her  husband's  death,  the  heavenly  admonition 

Pren  ton  valet,  pren  ton  valet;' 

and  as  people  were  clever  enough  to  take  that  for  nothing  but  the 
unconscious  confession  of  a  lascivious  spirit,  so  they  took  Falstaff's 
and  these  other  fellows'  discretion  and  prudence  and  aversion  to 
grinning  honor  and  stupid  death,  not  by  any  means  for  what  to  our 
eager  sympathy  they  seem  to  be.  That  in  all  its  transparency  this 
satiric  and  ironical  understatement  is  not  foreign  to  Shakespeare's 
method  with  Falstaff  in  general  appears  not  only  in  many  of  his 
evasions,  as  we  have  seen,  but  in  his  famous  talk  with  Bardolph, 
alluded  to  above: 

— ^virtuous  enough,  swore  little,  diced  not  above  seven  times  a  week,  went 
to  a  bawdy-house  not  above  once  in  a  quarter — of  an  hour,  paid  money 
that  I  borrowed  three  or  four  times. 

And  as  elsewhere  it  is  used  in  Shakespeare,  in  Shylock's  outcries — 

I  would  my  daughter  were  dead  at  my  foot — ^and  the  jewels  in  her  ear. 
Would  she  were  hearsed  at  my  foot— and  the  ducats  in  her  cofiin  .  .  .  .* 

and  used  by  Moliere  or  by  Sheridan,  or  by  so  recent  a  dramatist 
as  Robertson,  the  humor,  like  that  involved  in  Falstafif's  "incompre- 
hensible lies"  and  his  remorse,  seems  meant  to  be  unconscious,  not 
intentional.' 

1  Robinet  Badin.     Le  Roux  de  Lincy,  t.  Ill,  142. 

2  See  my  article,  "Shylock,"  p.  274.     This  punctuation  is  mine. 

s  Malade  imaginaire,  I,  ix,  near  end,  BSline's  similar  after-thoughts;  School  /or 
Scandal,  IV,  lil,  "who  never  in  my  life  denied  him — my  advice";  Rivals,  V,  iii,  "He 
generally  liills  a  man  a  weelc,  don't  you  Bob?  Acres:  Ay — at  homel";  Caste,  III,  i, 
239,  Eccles:  "Nothing  Uke  work — ^tor  the  young,"  etc. 

232 


Falstaff  101 

One  reason  why  in  Falstaff  we  fail  to  penetrate  this  mask  of 
unrealistic  and  malicious  portrayal,  and  take  his  words  to  heart, 
is  that  they  are  in  soliloquy.  A  man  does  not  banter  himself.  But 
on  the  stage  in  those  times  and  before  them  a  man  did,  and  all 
soliloquy  is  phrased  more  as  if  the  character  were  addressing  himself 
or  the  audience  than  as  if  he  were  thinking  aloud.  Hence  in  comic 
soliloquy'  allowances  are  to  be  made,  just  as  later,  when  Falstaff 
holds  forth  on  sack  as  the  cause  of  valor,  which  is  another  under- 
hand confession  of  cowardice,  and  when  Benedick  declares  that  the 
world  must  be  peopled,  which  is  a  confession  of  a  tenderer  sort.^ 
It  is  an  irony  which  touches  the  speaker,  not  the  thing  spoken  of, 
and  dissolves  away  not  all  the  seriousness  of  life  but  the  speaker's 
pretenses;  it  is  the  exposure,  not  the  expression,  of  his  "inmost 
self.'"  When  Falstaff  seems  to  be  talking  principle,  he  is,  as  we 
now  say,  only  "putting  it  mildly":  in  his  own  time  he  gave  himself 
away;  in  ours  he  takes  the  learned  in. 

But  the  main  reason  for  our  failure  to  penetrate  the  mask  is 
that  in  or  out  of  soliloquy  this  particular  method  of  dramatic  expres- 
sion is  a  thing  outworn,  outgrown.  Characters  are  no  longer  driven 
to  banter  or  expose  themselves,  or  the  better  audiences  resent  it  if 
they  are.  Psychology — born  of  sjonpathy — will  have  none  of  it, 
as  a  method  too  external,  ill-fitting,  double-tongued.  If  the  person 
be  taken  to  be  consciously  jesting — the  widow  about  wedding  while 
mourning,  Falstaff  about  the  vanity  of  honor,  or  Robertson's 
Eccles  about  the  wholesomeness  of  work — he  seems  then  and  there 
to  be  out  of  character;  yet  it  is  hard  to  see  how  he  can  have  been 
unconscious,  either,  and  it  is  manifest  that  the  author  is  more  intent 
on  the  jest,  or,  in  the  case  of  Quickly  above,  on  the  double  entendre, 
than  on  the  main  or  philosophic  drift; — and  yet  (once  again)  this 
self-consciousness  and  mirth  surely  do  not  imply,  as  in  the  writing 
of  today  they  must  needs  imply,  "freedom"  or  detachment,  any 
measure  of  indifference  or  superiority  to  the  pleasure  of  incontinently 

'See  my  articles;  "Anachronism  in  Shakespeare  Criticism,"  Modern  Philology, 
April,  1910,  pp.  561-62;  "Criminals  in  Shakespeare,"  ibid..  July,  1912,  pp.  68-69; 
"Hamlet  and  lago."  Such  cases  as  the  present  or  such  as  Hamlet's  self-reproaches  are 
the  only  ones  where  statements  in  soliloquy  are  to  be  discounted.  Nothing  subconscious 
can  be  intended. 

'  Much  Ado,  II,  ill,  227-55.     Wetz  compares  this  soUloquy  with  Falstafl's. 
« Wetz,  pp.  402-3,  quoting  Rotscher. 

233 


102  Elmer  Edgar  Stoll 

taking  one's  valet,  keeping  one's  arms  and  legs  whole,  or  sponging 
in  bibulous  sloth.  The  pith  of  the  matter,  then,  is  that  the  lines 
of  the  character  are,  for  us,  confused,  the  author  seems  to  peer 
through  and  wink  at  the  audience,  and  our  modern  sympathy  and 
craving  for  reality  are  vexed  and  thwarted,  somewhat  as  they  are 
by  the  self-consciousness  of  the  villains  or  by  the  butt-and-wit-in-one. 
Indeed,  unless  the  character  be  taken  to  be  unconscious,  we  seem  here 
to  have  a  case  of  butt-and-wit-in-one  at  one  and  the  same  moment. 
For  these  reasons  this  method  of  comic  portrayal,  which  goes  back 
at  least  to  the  Middle  Ages,  and  occurs  not  only  in  Elizabethan  comic 
drama  but  in  the  greatest  comic  drama  since — -in  Congreve,  Sheri- 
dan, not  to  mention  Moliere — has,  like  butt-and-wit-in-one  or  self- 
conscious  villainy,  been  dropped  by  the  modern  spirit  as  a  strange, 
ill-fitting  garment,  and,  since  Robertson  and  Gilbert,  has  been  rele- 
gated to  frank  satire  and  farce. 

How  petty  and  personal  Falstaff's  philosophy  is  on  the  face  of  it! 
Bulthaupt,  Gervinus,  Ulrici,  Rotscher,  and  others  after  them  speak 
of  him  sapping  the  foundations  of  morality,  and  Bulthaupt  com- 
pares him  "picking  the  notion  of  honor  to  pieces"  with  Trast  in 
Sudermaim's  Ehre !  There  indeed,  or  in  Arms  and  the  Man,  or  in 
Major  Barbara,  honor  reels  and  totters;  but  here  it  comes  "unsought 
for,"  "pricks"  our  captain  on,  and  drives  him  to  hide  from  before 
its  face.  By  word  and  by  deed  he  shows  that  he  is  not  more  indiffer- 
ent to  a  soldier's  honor  than  is  Sganarelle  to  a  husband's,  and  like 
him  he  snatches  it  greedily  when  he  can.  It  is  the  "grin"  that  he 
"likes  not,"  and  since  the  beginning  of  things  no  philosophy  has  been 
needed  for  that. 

For  Falstaff  is  simple  as  the  dramatist  and  his  times.  By  him 
the  chivalric  ideal  is  never  questioned;  Hotspur  is  comical  only  for 
his  testiness,  not  for  the  extravagance  and  fanaticism  of  his  derring- 
do.  To  some  critics  Falstaff  seems  a  parody  or  burlesque  of  knight- 
hood, and  tney_^are  reminded  of  the  contemporary  Quixote  and  his 
"Squire!     But  the  only  parallel  or  contrast^   between  knight  and 


iThe  parallels  discovered  by  Ulrici  (Book  VI,  chap.  7),  such  as  the  robbery  as  a 
withering  travesty  of  the  Hotspur  rebellion,  or  the  whole  Falstaff  episode  as  intended  to 
parody  the  hollow  pathos  of  the  political  history  and  to  assist  in  scattering  the  vain 
deceptive  halo  with  which  it  has  been  surrounded,  are  further  symptoms  of  the  craving 
for  unity  from  which  all  impressionistic  and  philosophical  critics  suffer. 

234 


Falstaff  103 

clown  suggested  is  on  the  battlefield,  and  there  as  in  Calderon's 
comedies  the  ridicule  is  directed  at  the  clown  alone.  In  the  story 
of  Cervantes  himself  it  is  so;  the  chivalric  ideal  stands  unchallenged, 
though  the  romantic  and  sentimental  extravagances  are  scattered 
like  the  rear  of  darkness  thin.  Even  by  these  Shakespeare  is 
untroubled,  and  true  to  the  spirit  of  the  Renaissance  all  his  heroes 
cherish  their  fame  and  worship  glory.  To  him  as  to  Moliere  and 
Cervantes  himself  Moron's  confession  that  he  had  rather  live  two 
days  in  the  world  than  a  thousand  years  in  history,'  would,  even  in 
less  compromising  circumstances,  have  seemed  but  clownish  and 
craven,  though  to  us  it  would  seem  neither,  in  our  mystical  adoration 
of  life  and  indifference  to  fame.  "Give  me  life!" — we  sadly  mis- 
take the  ascetic,  stoical,  chivalric  principles,  coming  down  from  the 
earliest  times  through  the  Renaissance  even  to  our  own,  if  we  fancy 
that  in  England  or  in  Italy^  there  were  many  who  could  keep  a 
good  conscience  and  say  it.  Romeo,  Hamlet,  Brutus,  Othello  and 
Desdemona,  Antony  and  his  queen,  are,  like  the  ancients,  far  from 
saying  it,  though  only  happiness,  not  honor,  is  at  stake.  The  men 
of  the  Renaissance  loved  life  because  they  had  found  it  sweet,  but — 
especially  the  Elizabethans — they  had  not  learned  to  think  much 
better  of  it  than  the  world  had  thought  before.  They  loved  it  as 
well  as  we,  but  not,  like  us,  from  principle  and  as  a  tenet  of  their 
faith. 

As  incapable  as  is  Shakespeare  (in  the  person  of  his  heroes)  of 
swerving  from  the  conventional  standard  of  honor  himself,  so 
incapable  is  he  of  comprehending  those  who  swerve.  For  his  clowns 
the  standard  is  set  as  for  his  villains.  Sometimes,  indeed,  though 
only  as  rebels,  the  villains  set  up  a  standard  of  their  own,  as  when 
lago  asserts  the  supremacy  of  his  will,  calls  virtue  a  fig  and  repu- 
tation an  idle  and  most  false  imposition.'  But  Falstaff  is  neither 
rebel  nor  critic.  As  clown  he  is  supposed  to  have  neither  philosophy 
nor  anti-philosophy,  being  a  comic  contrast  and  appendage  to  the 
heroes  and  the  heroic  point  of  view.     His  cavilings  at  honor  are  made 

1  Princesse  d' Elide,  I,  ii. 

'  Bruno  would  have  come  nearest  to  it.  Men  like  Aretino,  as  in  bis  letter  to  Strczzi, 
in  1537,  say  it  cynically.  When  moved,  all  EUzabethans,  at  least  in  plays,  think  of  death, 
and  so  do  the  Italians  of  the  Renaissance.  This  subject  I  hope  later  to  develop  more 
fully. 

3  Othello.  I,  iii,  321-33;   II,  iii,  266-70. 

235 


!03E*a!KffiM:.,  ,  jAiiStis:- 


104  Elmer  Edgae  Stoll 

utterly  nugatory  and  frivolous,  and  his  jokes  are  but  telltale  wards 
and  feints.  Like  all  stage  cowards  from  Colin  to  Acres  he  fulfils 
the  requirements  of  Mr.  Bradley's  definition,  "feehng  a  painful  fear 
in  the  presence  of  danger  and  yielding  to  that  fear  in  spite  of  his 
better  feelings  and  convictions."  There  indeed  lies  the  old-time 
humor  of  our  knight  on  the  battlefield — quaking  and  joking  as 
honor  pricks  him  on!  As  in  his  fits  of  remorse  or  in  his  incompre- 
hensible lies,  he  is  not  merry  but "  an  object  of  mirth."  He  is  funny 
not  because  he  feigns  and  really  is  "free,"  but  because  at  uncom- 
fortable moments  he  pulls  so  hard  on  the  bit.  On  his  deathbed, 
I  suppose,  he  was  not  feigning,  and  no  enfranchised  "Ephesian" 
would  there  have  cried  out  of  sack,'  of  women — or  the  Whore  of 
Babylon,  as  Quickly's  loyalty  and  piety  would  have  it. 

In  that  last  glimpse  is  none  of  the  subtlety  or  indulgence  of  today. 
According  to  Mackenzie,  the  Man  of  Feeling,  his  cowardice  is  "less 
a  weakness  than  a  principle."  He  lives  as  he  thinks,  as  how  few  of 
us  do!  He  renounces  the  "grinning  idol,"  thinks  Sir  Walter  Raleigh, 
and  "runs  away  or  counterfeits  death  with  more  courage  than 
others  show  in  deeds  of  knightly  daring."  How  a  saying  like  that 
makes  the  world  whirl  round  us  again  in  the  familiar  Ptolemaic 
fashion!-  Such  transcendental  paradox  on  the  one  hand,  such  indul- 
gence to  temperament  and  principle  on  the  other,  were  unknown  to 
the  Sage  of  Stratford  and  his  time.  As  I  have  shown  in  connection 
with  Shylock'  and  the  villains,  if  so  Falstaff  should  think,  the  worse 
for  him!  But  the  fact  is,  as  we  have  seen,  that  Shakespeare  has 
Falstaff  at  heart  think  like  everyone  else,  and  calls  a  spade  a  spade. 
For  him  and  his  fellows  a  coward  is  such  regardless  of  distinctions 
between  character  and  conduct,  constitution  and  principle,  and 
might  as  well  at  once  have  done  with  them  and  stick  the  rabbit  scut 
in  his  hat.  In  the  comedies  of  Morgann's  own  day,  as  in  the  medi- 
aeval farces,  all  extenuating  distinctions  were  without  a  difference. 
"Look  'ee.  Sir  Lucius,"  cries  Bob  Acres,  like  another  Colin  or  Jode- 
let;    "  'tisn't  that  I  mind  the  word  coward — coward  may  be  said  in 

'Giuseppe  Barone  (Un  Anienaio  di  Falstaff)  mistakes  the  e.xpression,  and  has  him 
cry  out  for  sacli  and  women.  Just  so  he  would  have  been  presented  today:  llying  or 
dying,  oior  funny  men  are  not  troubled  with  compunctions. 

>  The  great  merit  of  Sir  Walter  Raleigh's  book  is  that  as  a  whole  it  does  not  do  this. 

'In  Shylock,  pp.  270-71. 

236  .     . 


Falstaff  105 

joke.  But  if  you  had  called  me  a  poltroon,  odds  daggers  and  balls!" 
And  when  in  mellower  times  Mr.  Shaw  in  Candida  attempted  to 
establish  a  difference,  and  to  represent,  not  one  cowardly  in  principle 
and  courageous  by  constitution,  but  one  courageous  in  principle 
and  cowardly  by  constitution — a  compound  less  dubious  and  mis- 
takable — what  a  deal  of  exposition  and  manipulation  was  required! 

Subtihzed  and  also  sentimentahzed !  Mr.  Bradley  does  not 
mind  saying  that  he  for  one  is  glad  that  Falstaff  ran  away  on  Gadshill; 
M.  Stapfer  declares  that  morally  he  was  no  worse  than  you  or  I ;  and 
Hazlitt,  lost  in  sympathy  with  Falstaff  in  the  blighting  of  his  hopes 
at  the  succession,  resentfully  asserts  that  he  was  a  better  man  than 
the  Prince.  That  is,  the  character  is  lifted  bodily  out  of  the  drama- 
tist's reach.  Falstaff  is  a  rogue,  and  people  cannot  like  him :  twice 
Morgann  protests  that  in  order  to  be  comical  at  all  he  must  be  "void 
of  evil  motive."  Lying  for  profit  and  jesting  for  profit,  the  cheating 
and  swindling  of  your  unsophisticated  admirers,  gluttony,  lechery, 
extortion,  highway  robbery,  and  cowardice — pray,  what  is  funny 
about  all  these?  Hence  the  profit  has  been  turned  to  jest,  the 
misdemeanors  to  make-believe.  Not  otherwise  Hercules  in  the 
Alcestis  was  thought  by  Browning  to  get  roaring  drunk,  not  for  his 
own  private  satisfaction  but  for  that  of  the  mourners' — and  there  is 
another  who  in  the  good  cause  of  human  happiness  does  not  mind 
making  a  fool  of  himself !  So  it  must  be  when  we  take  a  character  to 
our  bosoms  out  of  an  old  play  like  a  pet  out  of  the  jungle — we  must 
extract  his  sting.  This  by  the  critics  has  been  duly  done,  to  Falstaff 
as  to  Shylock.     Our  "white-bearded  Satan"  has  had  his  claws  pared. 

For  those  who  have  not  learned  to  think  historically  cannot 
stomach  the  picaresque.  It  matters  not  to  them  that  nearly  all  the 
professional  comic  characters  of  Elizabethan  drama,  as  of  all  drama 
before  it,  have  a  vein  of  roguery  in  them — Sir  Toby  as  well  as  Au- 
tolycus,  the  Clown  as  well  as  the  Vice;  or  that  in  those  days  high 
and  low  were  rejoicing  in  the  roguery  romances,  English,  French,  or 
Spanish.  Yet  these  people  delighted  in  Falstaff  as  unreservedly  as 
does  the  Prince  in  the  play.  That  they  did  not  take  him  for  an 
innocuous  mimic  and  merrymaker  numerous  allusions  in  the  seven- 
teenth century,  as  we  have  already  seen,  attest.     And  Hal  loved 

1  See  Jebb's  comment,  article  "Euripides,"  Encyclopaedia  Brittannica. 

237 


106  Elmer  Edgar  Stoll 

him  as  Morgante  loved  Margutte,  as  Baldus  loved  Cingar,  and  Pan- 
tagruel — "all  his  life  long" — loved  Panurge,  not  for  his  humor  only 
but  for  his  lies  and  deviltry.  They  had  their  notions  of  "a  charac- 
ter" as  we  have  ours.  With  endless  variety  of  repetition, Rabelais 
revels  in  notions  of  drunkenness,  gluttony,  lasciviousness,  and  in 
tricks  of  cheating  and  cruelty,  as  things  funny  in  themselves.  With 
what  gusto  he  tells  of  the  outrages  perpetrated  by  Panurge  on  the 
watch,  the  difficult  Parisian  lady,  and  Dingdong  and  his  flock,  and 
of  Friar  John's  slaying  and  curiously  and  expertly  mutilating  his 
thousands  with  the  staff  of  the  cross  in  the  abbey  close!  And  yet, 
frowning  down  the  facts,  the  critics  declare  that  Falstaff  had  no 
malice  in  him,'  and  though  he  laments  the  repayment  had  no  inten- 
tion of  keeping  the  stolen  money,  repaid  Quickly  full  measure  and 
running  over  with  his  company,  and  after  all  did  no  mentionable 
injury  to  Shallow,  who  had  land  and  beeves.  "Where  does  he 
cheat  the  weak,"  cries  Magiim,  "or  prey  upon  the  poor?"  There 
is  Quickly,  poor,  and  weak  at  least  before  his  blandishments, 
"made  to  serve  his  uses  both  in  purse  and  in  person";  and  there 
are  Bullcalf,  who  has  a  desire  to  stay  with  his  friends,  and  Mouldy, 
whose  dame  is  old  and  cannot  help  herself,  both  swindled  in  the 
name  of  the  King,  as  Wart,  Feeble,  and  Shadow,  the  unlikeliest 
men,  are  wrongfully  pressed  into  service.  All  this  once  was  funny, 
and  now  is  base  and  pitiful,^  but  why  should  we  either  shut  our 
eyes  to  it  or  bewail  it?  Surely  we  cannot  with  Morgann  make 
allowances  for  his  age  and  corpulency  (how  that  would  have  staggered 
an  Elizabethan  !)  and  corrupting  associations;  or  with  Maginn  trace 
the  pathos  of  his  degradation,  hope  after  hope  breaking  down;  or 
with  Swinburne  discover  the  well  of  tenderness  within  him,  his  heart 
being  "fracted  and  corroborate,"  not  for  material  disappointment, 
but  for  wounded  love.'    With  this  last  the  present  Chief  Secretary 

1  Raleigh,  p.  189;  Wolff,  I,  p.  423;  cf.  Part  II,  111,  ii,  353-57;  IV,  iii,  137-42. 

2  The  scenes  (Part  I,  III,  iii;  Part  II,  II,  i)  where  Falstaff,  upbraided  by  Quickly, 
retorts  in  chirk  and  clever  vein,  resemble  the  scene  in  Le  Medecin  malgre  lui  where  Sgana- 
relle  does  the  same  to  his  long-suffering  wife.  And  the  scene  where  the  latter  imposes 
on  the  country  bumpkins  with  fraudulent  remedies  resembles  that  in  which  Falstaff 
and  Bardolph  fleece  the  conscripts. 

'  If  Shakespeare  means  that  he  really  is  heartbroken  (which  Mr.  Birrell  denies)  it 
is  not  the  first  or  the  last  time  that  the  dramatist  permits  himself  a  bit  of  sentiment 
upon  the  death  of  the  unworthy. 

238 


Falstaff  107 

for  Ireland  is  properly  disgusted,  though  in  being  less  sentimental 
he  is  hardly  more  Elizabethan  in  spirit  as  he  calls  him  "in  a  very 
real  sense  a  terrible  character,  so  old  and  so  profane  "I^  Yet  Mr. 
Birrell  remembers  him  (where  others  have  been  glad  to  forget  him) 
with  Doll  at  the  Boar's  Head,  and  he  reads  an  unexpurgated  text. 
And  if  he  does  not  look  with  the  eyes  of  an  Elizabethan,  he  looks 
with  his  own,  and  sees  the  old  rogue  and  satjT  in  his  heathen  naked- 
ness, not  in  the  breeches  that,  like  Volterra  in  the  Sistine,  the  critics 
have  hastened  to  make  him. 

Morals  and  sentiments  alike,  in  the  lapse  of  time,  obliterate 
humor.  Laughter  is  essentially  a  geste  social,  as  Meredith  and  Pro- 
fessor Bergson  have  truly  told  us;  and  the  immediate  and  necessary 
inference,  which  no  doubt  they  themselves  would  have  drawn,  is  that 
it  languishes  when  the  tickled  mores  change.  Much  that  was  fuimy 
to  the  Elizabethans  or  to  the  court  of  the  Grand  Monarch  has  since 
become  pathetic,  as  in  Shylock  and  Harpagon,  Alceste  and  Georges 
Dandin,  and  "disgusting"  or  even  "  terrible,"  as  in  Falstaff  or  Tartuffe. 
Of  this  we  have  just  seen  repeated  instances,  and  of  the  process  of  criti- 
cal emasculation  which  in  consequence  ensues.  Even  the  form  and 
fashion  of  the  older  humor  has  given  offense.  Most  of  the  English 
critics  apparently  have  not  seen  Falstaff  on  the  stage,  but  those  who 
have  cannot  recall  him  there  without  a  shudder.  The  roaring,  the 
falling  fiat,  and  above  all  the  padding — "a  very  little  stuffing,"  one 
of  them  pleads,  "would  answer  all  the  requirements  of  the  part."^ 
And  the  padded  bulk  of  his  humor,  as  of  his  person — "out  of  all 
measure,  out  of  all  compass" — about  his  name  being  terrible  to  the 
enemy  and  known  to  all  Europe,  and  Turk  Gregory  never  doing  such 
deeds,  is  so  reduced  by  anachronizing  Procrustean  critics  as  to  contain 
"nothing  but  a  light  ridicule."^  His  ancestral  ring  seems  to  have 
been  really  of  gold,  not  copper,  "though  probably  a  little  too  much 

iRenaissance  Shakespeare,  Henry  IV,  Part  II,  pp.  xvi,  X'V'iii.  Cf.  p.  xv:  "Falstaff's 
words  'Kiss  mo,  Doll,'  followed  by  his  cry,  'I  am  old,  I  am  old,'  together  with  other 
touches  in  the  same  scene,  might  well  stand  for  the  last  words  of  disgust  and  horror." 
They  were  meant,  certainly,  to  be  funny.  Funniest  of  all,  no  doubt,  was  the  worst,  at 
the  end  of  the  scene,  where  Bardolph,  from  within,  cries,  "Bid  Mistress  Tearsheet  come 
to  my  master,"  and  motherly  Mistress  Quickly  bids  her  run. 

'  Eraser's,  xlvi:   p.  409;    Morgann,  p.  26,  etc. 

'  Morgann,  pp.  41,  83;  Bradley,  Oxford  Lectures,  p.  2G7 — "must  not  be  entirely 
ignored." 

239 


108  Elmer  Edgab  Stoll 

alloyed  with  baser  metal."^  And  his  "old  ward,"  like  his  "man- 
hood," Hal  might  have  remembered  if  he  would.^  What  of  the 
multitudiaous  knaves  in  buckram  and  Kendal  green,  or  of  the  knight 
himself  at  Hal's  age  not  an  eagle's  talon  in  the  waist  or  an  alder- 
man's thumb-ring,  or  of  the  nine  score  and  odd  posts  he  foimdered 
as  he  devoured  the  road  to  battle  in  Gaultree  Forest  ?  Even  his 
laugh,  which  must  have  been  big  as  his  body,  riotous  as  his  fancy, 
lingering  and  reverberating  as  the  repetitions  of  his  tongue,'  has  been 
taken  away.^  "The  wit  is  from  the  head,  not  the  heart.  It  is  any- 
thing but  fun."  If  we  are  to  depend  on  stage  directions  there  is 
no  laughter  in  Sir  Toby  either,  or  almost  any  other  jovial  soul  in 
Shakespeare.  In  robbing  these  fat  knights  of  their  fun  critical 
treason  has  well-nigh  done  its  worst,  though  before  that  it  robbed 
audiences  (at  the  cost  of  truth  though  to  the  profit  of  morals)  of  the 
fun  got  from  Shylock,  Harpagon,  Dandin,  and  Tartuffe.  On  the  stage 
and  in  the  study  much  of  the  comedy  in  Shakespeare  and  Moli^re  has 
been  smothered  out  of  them  from  the  Romantic  Revival*  unto  this 
day,  and  yet  we  smile  at  the  Middle  Ages  Christianizing  the  classics. 

Elmer  Edgar  Stoll 
University  op  Minnesota 
Minneapolis,  Minn. 

'  Morgann,  p.  54. 

»  Ibid.,  p.  148. 

'  This  rolling  of  his  jest  as  a  sweet  morsel  between  his  lips  is  one  of  his  most  striking 
traits:  as  "food  for  powder,  food  for  powder;  they'll  fill  a  pit  as  well  as  better.  Tush, 
man,  mortal  men,  mortal  men  I"  Cf.  "I  am  old,  I  am  old";  and  the  manifold  repetitions 
In  Part  I,  II,  iv. 

*  Maginn,  p.  56:  "he  never  laughs." 

'  This  is  a  subject  to  which  I  hope  to  retiu-n. 


240 


This  book  is  due  at  the  LOUIS  R.  WILSON  LIBRARY  on  the 
last  date  stamped  under  "Date  Due."  If  not  on  hold  it  may  be 
renewed  by  bringing  it  to  the  library. 


DATE 
DUE 


RET. 


DATE 
DUE 


RET. 


:     -'  '^VihFPl] 


